Home for Me is the Chaos in Your Arms (And in My Mind)
by seaflowr
Summary: The Republic didn't remember everyone in their conquest for freedom. Some where still left in captivity, in binds. Some had to find liberation for themselves. This means slipping in and out of identities. whore becomes fugitive. Girl becomes boy, then girl again. Out cast to First Order to Resistance. Kit sheds her skins, reluctantly scrapping the surface of who she really is
1. Chapter 1

_She hates the cold. He understands, he'd grown up in warm, humid settings. She'd blossomed in more temperate areas, soft summers and mild winters. This is the reason he gives when, in the frozen landscape of the southernmost region of the planet, she clings to him like a child to her favorite blanket._

 _"It's freezing," she mutters, face on his chest. "I thought it was supposed to get warmer, the further south you go."_

 _He nods, smoothing a hand over her back and ignoring the frostbitten toes on his calf. "It does. To a certain point." And this becomes a brief geography lesson, him explaining that temperature is highest at the equator, the line that divides the planet in half, separating the north from the south. The further away you go, in either direction, the colder it becomes. She is tired, he can see it in her eyes, but she listens, pays attention to his every word._

 _"We should go somewhere warm next," she says, as if they were planning a vacation, just the two of them, not the movement of an entire military force._

 _"Warmer places have bugs. And venomous animals. And poisonous plants."_

 _"At least I'll die warm," she retorts and he doesn't stop himself from smiling at how petulant she sounds._

 _Later, when she is allowing them to get to know her better, she will say that home for her has always been the people who surround her. She has never identified with four walls, never known the pull of returning to a familiar place. She will say it bluntly and he will not be able to ignore the way her eyes flit to him first. But right now they are in his bed, and he can still pretend that she is only here for creature comforts. Tonight she is cold. Tomorrow she might seek out other things his body can offer. It's less messy that way, less complicated, to pretend that all they are to each other is replicable bodies._

 _"You think too much," she chides, softly kissing his cheek._

 _"You learned the ways of the Force? Mind reading is the way of the darkside, you know?"_

 _"I wouldn't have to read your mind, even if I could."_

 _"Why not?"_

 _She grabs his hand, the one not settled on the curve of her back. "Because you tap your fingers when you're thinking."_

 _She smiles, soft and genuine and rare (though maybe less rare recently) and he thinks maybe, just maybe, he could grow to like the cold._

Many believed that with the death of Emperor Sidious (formerly Chancellor Palpatine) that the Empire would fall. The rebellion that brought him down and destroyed their best weapon thought of the Empire as a snake, remove the head and the body dies. Perhaps like a chicken, remove the head and the body runs around aimlessly for a time before finally collapsing, its remains ready to be fed upon by vultures. This is why many countries, cities, and peasant villages celebrated for days after the explosions.

The Empire was not a snake. Some would call it a hydra, remove one head, another two would grow in its place. Others would say phoenix, perhaps falling once, but rising up again stronger than before.

It doesn't matter what it was compared to. The death of an old men, two old men, was not the death of the Empire. There were still many other figures, many other cogs in the machine, who did not want to release their power. This is why many more did not celebrate, why many more were surprised into silence.

District Administrator Brisen had been in charge of a small district of no consequence when the Emperor fell. Having done little to draw attention to himself, not being particularly terrible nor particularly distinguished, he managed to hold the small space even during the brief periods of Republic rule in the country. He is not well liked by the laypeople, generally forgotten or avoided. He lives comfortably, living off the sweat of others without inflicting the cruelty upon them directly. He caused no trouble for anyone and no one caused trouble for him. It was a lovely arrangement.

This is why he is surprised when one unassuming day the door to his study opens and a visitor walks in, fully dressed in First Order attire. He gives a name, one that Brisen quickly forgets, and informs him that his presence has been requested.

"May I ask by whom?"

"The Intelligence Sect, sir. Transportation for you and your household has been arranged. We can leave immediately."

Brisen could hear the underlying meaning to the words _'we will be leaving Immediately_.' He swallows hard and stands. "Perhaps I should pack some things."

"That won't be necessary." The man gave a smile, an attempt, perhaps, at reassurance. It was over bright and forced, only adding to Brisen's obvious discomfort.

"Well. Alright then."

He was quickly escorted to a small carriage, black and nondescript. He sat across from the young official who was sent to collect him, the car otherwise empty despite the hint that his staff was joining them. With the curtain drawn he could not see outside, but one glance at his escort told him that peeking out the window was ill advised. The ride was silent and smooth and long, the weather mild. Under other circumstances he might have fallen asleep. But the man before him (who he was beginning to suspect was a bit more important than he'd assumed, if only he could remember his name) kept his hands pleasantly folded in his lap and a small revolver at his hip. It did not encourage napping.

When they finally reached their destination, some hours later, Brisen could hear the hustle of city life behind him but did not risk turning away from the small building before him. It was lacking the First Order's customary dark aesthetic, he considered that maybe this wasn't an official station. Once inside he was guided to a small, dimly lit chamber. The man who had taken him this far quickly gave a slight nod then took his leave. For a few spare minutes, Brisen was left alone to his imagination. He could not recall anything that he could have done. Nothing to displease his superiors, nothing to draw in their interest. Thoughts are still turning in his mind when the door opens again, letting in two men and a small cart.

The first, dark haired and rather short, looks Brisen over with something resembling anticipation. The other, tall and red headed, seemed to have taken on a tense, but somehow bored, stance.

"Good morning Administrator Brisen," the red head said, standing erect with his hands behind his back. He did not offer his name.

"Good morning."

"If all goes as planned, this should not take much of your time. We have some questions."

"Questions?"

"Yes." He glances to the dark haired one. "You may begin."

Screams echoed down the corridors. Brisen was not a man who had seen combat, had not built up a threshold for pain. With each question that he gave an unsatisfactory answer to, the more instruments of torture were introduced.

Questions about his loyalty were met with punches to the face and stomach. Questions about security brought welts, beaten into his back and stomach with a whip. Fire had been held over his legs and feet till the skin raised red and angry then gray and black with burning, the scent of his own flesh and the horrific feeling flooding his senses. His fists had clenched, unconsciously, and later he would find his hands slick with blood from wounds inflicted by his own fingernails.

Now, with a nod from the red head, the dark-haired man reached to the lower level of the shelf and began to pull out a metal contraption. Brisen, mind blurred by the onslaught of pain, was brought to the present by the possibility of escape.

"Hux?" He muttered, eyes fixed on the red haired man. He glanced up, eyes sharp, and frowned. Brisen's voice had been more than hoarse, it had been a sharp crack followed by gravel. He swallowed hard, or tried to, but found his mouth and throat dry. "Hux, right? I knew your father."

Knew was a strong word. He had heard of the man, saw him from a distance less than a handful of times. They had never met, formally or informally. But he would build a million bonds with any figure who could get him from this mess.

The boy, the younger Hux, gives no indication that he actually cares. If anything his already tense disposition seems to worsen, face pinching.

"I think I'll leave you to this, Matrius," he gives a slight nod, then makes his exit. With the red head gone the other smiles, the expression nearly splitting his face in two, and Brisen knows, can sense, that his troubles are only just beginning.

There is the sound of whirring metal. It takes seconds for the screaming to begin again. No more than a minute after Hux abandoned the interrogation room he can hear the heavy thud of footsteps behind him. When he turns, he is surprised to see Captain Phasma rapidly approaching.

"I thought you would still be assisting the idiot," he mutters, reaching in his coat pocket for a cig.

"I am. He thought, maybe, Brisen could also have information on the map." Phasma, unlike Hux, was positioned to participate in open combat. For that reason, she was very rarely out of her full battle uniform. He thinks he can count on his hands the number of times he's seen her in civvies. However, even without being able to see her face behind the mask, he can sense he disapproval. The cig, unlit, goes back into his pocket.

"Fine. This is only our second stop, there's three more left."

"Well, it's best to be thorough. You of all people seem to know that, General."

It's been more than a month but Hux, General Hux, has yet to become accustomed to his new title. He has taken all of the responsibilities head on, excelling in most of them. He does not mind the added work, actually enjoys it in his way. It's the title, the title, that he has not yet made his own.

"I should make contact with the squadron we sent to his home. Perhaps they've found something?"

The Captain nods. "I'll supervise the interrogation." With that General Hux shifts briefly on his feet and walks in the direction of the makeshift comm room. As Phasma approached the door the screaming, having once echoed through the corridors, abruptly stopped. When she opened the door she could see Matrius wiping off his instruments. The man, Brisen, sits in a chair. A sheen of sweat covers his brow, even in sleep his features are etched with distress, pain.

There are stumps where the fingers on his left hand used to be. Blood drips onto the floor, smears along his palm.

"If you don't handle those soon, he will die," she warns.

"Yes," he smiles. "I suppose I should call for a medic. And the others? How are they doing?"

There were four domestics who made up Brisen's household. These were an elderly man who served as his cook, the elderly man's son who managed the landscape, and the maid who tended to the house. In addition to this there was an errand boy. Of the four brought to the station, only one was refusing to speak and Phasma had understood why as soon as she saw him. The errand boy was young, she could tell by his short stature and slight frame. He was probably poor, as told by the way he was bundled in seemingly endless layers of tattered clothing. A boy like him could be seen on any corner, doing various jobs for any number of men. This one would stand out, however, due to the fact that his face was entirely wrapped in gauze and fabric. There were three slits, two for the eyes and one for the nose. The other three who were taken in had said, when the interrogator continued to question him, that they had never heard him say a single word. They didn't think that he could.

When Phasma brought this up to Matrius, he grinned. "Well, give me five minutes. I'll have the little bastard screaming."

The Captain, somewhat hesitantly, nodded. If anyone had the information to discern where Brisen's loyalties lay, with the Resistance or the First Order, it would be the one who carried out his work for him.

She took the errand boy to interrogation, not missing how his neck snapped to watch Brisen carted out of the room. The set of his shoulders stiffened, Phasma placed him in the chair that his employer had only just vacated. The seat had not been cleaned and she could see the boy's eyes, large and dark lashed, staring at the red smears.

"Let's see about getting those bandages off, hmm?" Matrius leered, renewed excitement in his features. Facial coverings like that would make perfect cover for a Resistance spy, but Phasma wondered if the boy really was a mute, perhaps the gauze indicating a medical problem.

When Matrius reached for the tail end of the wrappings, the boy reacted violently, lashing out with both hands and feet. Matrius, standing above him, delivered a sound punch to the jaw and the boy was sent back into the chair. After forcing the boy's hands behind his back and tying them together he managed to unwrap the top layer, which was mostly soiled bits of cloth, some blue, some the off gray of something that was once white. However the next layer posed a challenge, Matrius could not find the start of the strip, the bit he would pull to unwind the bindings like a loose thread. He quickly lost patience, reaching for a scalpel to cut a path. Phasma heard the door open behind her and turned to see another officer.

"Captain, your presence has been requested in the barracks," she muttered quickly, obviously nervous.

Phasma nodded. "Of course," her gaze flits back to Matrius, who had paused in his endeavors to watch the exchange between her and the other officer closely. Seeing that he had been caught in the act he tried to look away.

"Stay here," she said to the new comer. "All interrogations are to be supervised, after all."

He gave a nod before turning back to the prisoner. The door had barely closed when he began cutting through the gauze, using the scalpel to make a tear. Unwrapping it from around his skull proved to be tedious work, eyes glaring at him the entire time, but the prize was well worth it. In the end he saw why it had been difficult, the errand boy had shoved both ends of the gauze into his mouth before looping it around. Matrius gave a genuine smile as he took in the smooth, somewhat dirty features. No sign of scarring or injury, he was certain that the bindings had been a disguise. Maybe the gauze in the mouth had been a reminder not to speak.

He leaned forward, pupils dilating as they roam over wide, angry eyes, and swollen, red mouth.

"This will be interesting."

Phasma returned not long after. It was a small matter, a skirmish among comrades. She was present to hear stories and dole out discipline before returning to the room. A part of her haste was lack of interest in the monotonous task, minor strifes were surprisingly common in such a strict regime. The other part was the need to be with Matrius during this affair. The man got results, there was no contesting that, but Phasma had not liked the look in his eyes. Her suspicions were confirmed when she opened the door.

Matrius was still there, standing. His tools were, surprisingly, still clean. He was standing, jacket removed, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, with the scalpel in hand.

What caught Phasma's attention was the young girl he was pointing the scalpel at. For a moment she thought that she was the housekeeper, but she had seen that woman. She was older, somewhat stockier than the girl who now stood before her, half naked and wide eyed.

"The errand boy?" She asked, the static of her helmet doing little to cover her surprise.

"Yes. Well, not quite boy, I would think. Not quite a beauty either." Matrius was grinning like a mad man now as the girl jerked in different direction, trying to avoid his touch. Phasma noticed for the first time that she wasn't wearing pants, the front part of her shirt had been cut open. If not for the many layers protecting her, the Captain was certain that she would be naked. "Not that she'll let me get a look at her," his eyes had yet to leave the girl's face. "Take it off."

"No." The words are coarse and raspy.

"Ah, she speaks. Not quite a scream, but I have time," his gaze flitted to the Captain, as if sharing a joke, and the girl took advantage of his distraction. She lounged forward from her crouched position, taking the scalpel from his hand and wrapping her arm around his throat.

"I don't know anything. The old man had me bring him whores and alcohol, nothing more."

"Then why disguise yourself?" Matrius asked, cocky demeanor showing that the sudden change of events had done nothing to dull his mood. "Why go through all that trouble to hide?"

The girl brought the knife to his neck, scowling. She was shorter than him and had to shift her footing, a motion that brought Phasma's attention to long, powerful looking legs. The feet were clean, but long nailed and calloused. There were various cuts and bruises, each at different stages in healing. This was not what caught Phasma's attention. Instead it was the tattoo, half covered by the hem of her shirt. It was an ornate, almost pretty thing, a symbol that marked the girl as property. More specifically, a sex slave.

"You're a runaway?"

The girl glared at her. "Yes."

The act of human trafficking was technically illegal. But, like many other acts under the Republic, it had often gone unnoticed. There were various entities who specialized in breeding and trading, some of the victims the result of war, some of kidnapping. Still more were sold by relatives, due to the striking poverty of their populations.

"I don't know anything. And I don't think the old man does either." She presses the blade more firmly against Matrius's throat. "Just let me go. Or I'll cut him open."

The Torturer laughed. The girl's gaze cut at him for an instance, not quickly enough to prepare for his head swinging back and knocking her in the face. She winced with pain, stumbled back, and Matrius took advantage of the moment to turn and kick her in the stomach. She fell to the floor and he snatched the scalpel from her fingers.

"Give me five minutes Phasma. She'll sing." The smile had yet to leave his face. He was panting a little, but did not seem fatigued at all. If anything the girl's struggle only heightened his anticipation.

"That's enough Officer," Phasma commanded, stepping forward.

He jerked back, scowling in confusion. Then, quickly, he remembered who he was speaking to.

"Yes, Captain," he stood at attention and saluted, rigidly. For a second the man looked angry, then he gained control of his expression and looked almost mocking. Phasma felt that she was looking at a petulant child, angry that he was kept from torturing his pet.

"There are other prisoners that require your attention."

"Yes. Of course." He saluted once more before turning back to his table. Phasma took advantage of the moment to offer her hand to help the girl up, but she simply pushed herself up and went for her pants. She was pulling them on when Phasma turned to the young officer who had been present but did not intervene.

"Take this one back to the holding cell. Bring us the son."

The young officer nodded, placing handcuffs on the errand boy- girl's- wrist. She tensed briefly, as if preparing to resist, but seeing that Matrius was otherwise occupied, she allowed the bindings.

Phasma stands at the door, watching and waiting for the next subject, when General Hux returns.

"There's no indication in his home of subversion."

"How can you be certain?"

"He doesn't do much. To sell information one must have information. There's no reason that such a lowly man would have access to the plans, nor any evidence that he stole anything." Down the hall they could see the approach of the handyman, a well built, middle aged man with weather worn features. Hux shook his head. "Send them back to their hovel. There's nothing to find here." As an afterthought. "Maybe with a new title. For his troubles." For his silence.

"There was an incident," she began. "The errand boy they brought in was a girl. In disguise."

"A spy?"

"No. A fugitive." She surprises even herself with the hesitation in the next sentence. "I have reason to believe she is a runaway pleasure girl."

Hux's face reflects confusion for a moment, then understanding. "Reason to believe?"

"A tattoo. On her thigh."

"Hmm. Perhaps it is a cover story. A sort of failsafe, in case she was ever caught," he ponders this. "We should interrogate her. Just to be certain. Bring her to Matrius."

"She's already been to Matrius. He's the one who made the discovery." Phasma leans against the wall beside Hux. A momentary lax in decorum. "That's actually a part of the incident. When I returned to interrogation he was holding a knife at her to force her to remove her clothes."

"Far worse things have happened to people who have sat at his table."

"I know this Hux. And if it had been an interrogation technique, some method to get her to speak, I would not have thought twice about it. Matrius didn't care if stripping her made her speak or not. He simply wanted her naked." And it was because he knew, after seeing how she hid her identity, that she did not want to remove her clothing. To reveal herself. "We exist to restore order Hux. Not to needlessly terrify little girls."

"Those things are not always mutually exclusive, Phasma." His fingers twitched over the cig in his pocket. "Bring the girl to me. We'll see what she knows."

"What is your name?" He asks.

The girl stares at him blankly. "Your hair color. I've only seen it once."

Hux frowns. "Name, girl."

"Mouse."

He waits for her to finish, give a last name, but it seemed as if she was finished. "Is that all?"

"Some call me Boy."

He sighs. "Last name?"

"Oh. Don't have one."

"And you are a ... pleasure girl?"

Her face set in a frown. "I used to be."

"I've been told that there is a tattoo on your upper thigh."

"Yes."

"Show it to me."

The girl's eyes grew hard, but she stood any way and dragged her pants to the middle of her thigh. He could make out the tattoo easily on the light skin, though it appeared worn with age. He let his eyes flit over it for a moment before taking some notes on a page. When nothing else was demanded the girl, somewhat confused and more than a little wary, pulled her pants back up and returned to her seat.

"Where were you before coming here?"

"I've been in different places. Never really paid much attention to names. Some were cities, most villages."

"And the name of your owner?"

The girl bristled visibly at that. "I don't have an owner."

"The man who purchased you, what was his name?"

"I don't know."

"I've been told that owners give their slaves a second brand, to mark them as theirs.

Shall we check for your second mark?"

"You won't find one." She smiles, thin and bitter. "Most pleasure women aren't rebranded. Lessens the resale value. If you're going to kill me, then do it. But I won't go back to that place."

Hux stood, scowling down at her. "And where will you go now? Back to the Resistance?"

The bitter smile returns. "What has the Resistance done for me?"

He leaves the room, nearly running into a large black mass in a mask. Hux nearly curses but remembers himself. "Lord Ren. Have you made progress in your search?"

It is less an update and more a taunt, knowing that Ren is no closer to finding his map than he was when last they met. He really shouldn't be surprised when the twit returns the favor. "Has the spy hunt produced any results?"

Both glare at each other for a moment (or at least Hux assumes that Ren is glaring back) before Hux steps into the hallway. "Is that the girl?"

"Yes." Hux responds, somewhat confused.

"I can make her talk. If she's still being difficult." The others had apparently been subjected to him as well, just to be certain, she was the last.

"If you wish." Hux steps aside and watches Ren settle into the seat he just vacated.

The girl stares at him with curiosity, perhaps not realizing that the man was about to reach into her mind, tear through it if necessary. Her brow furrowed, as if in mild discomfort, but there was none of the pain associated with Ren's touches, when people would resist him.

"I saw nothing of interest," he says in passing, not stopping to address Hux properly. "She's not worth the effort."

Hux turns, regards the girl one more time, then turns away. He motions to the storm trooper by the door. "Release the girl. Arrange for her transport back to Brisen." He doubted that she would stay there long, but he supposed that it would be a good starting point.

Kit has been many things. She has been witness and orphan. She has been product. She has been whore. She has been fugitive. For the last four years she has been boy, servant to an old man who, if he had known who she was, may have wanted other things from her. For the last four years she has been mute, covering assumed disfigurement with layers of cloth, even on hot, sweaty days. Kit (though few know her by that name) is very good at surviving. She has done this by changing her skin, her identity. She will have to change again. Maybe in the next town she will be female again, maybe she'll get a real job, like shopkeeper. She was a simple girl. She just wanted to be left alone.

She is only a little surprised when she sees the armored woman leaning against her carriage.

 _I wonder if she's really that tall_ , she thinks to herself, stepping forward.

"Am I to be returned to interrogation?" Kit asked. "I was told that I was being released."

Phasma closed the space between them. "You said that the Resistance has done nothing for you." Kit nods in response. "Have you ever considered joining the First Order?"

Kit laughs. "No offence, but the First Order hasn't done much either."

"We haven't been given the chance."

"Thank you for the offer. But I think I'll go." She moves past Phasma, pulling her hair into a tail and tying it with a strip of her mask.

"He made you feel weak. Made you feel small and powerless. Naked." Kit paused to listen to her words, hand on the door. "Join us." She pushed a clipboard forward and Kit could see questions written on the page. "You can create a new identity for yourself, leave the past and the pain behind. No one will ever make you feel weak again."

Kit turned and gazed at the barren wasteland that had been her resting place for two years now. It had been nice.

She took the clipboard from Phasma's hand.

The next time Hux saw Phasma the crew was preparing for transport. It was time for the next search, this time in Mygeeto. It was a setting that he was more comfortable in, he supposed, being more modern.

The next time he saw Phasma she was not alone. Instead she was followed by a young woman. She was not wearing Stormtrooper armor, opting instead for the black uniform that his officers wore. Her hair, dark and thick and curly, was brought to a tight bun.

It took him longer than he was comfortable with to recognize the errand boy.

Like this, it was hard to see how anyone mistook her for a boy. The face, though not beautiful, was obviously feminine, with a full mouth and wide, darkly lashed eyes. Her form was also that of a woman's. She had taken great care to hide herself away, and was willing to die to maintain an illusion.

Hux found Phasma alone not long after. "The errand boy?"

She shrugs, a difficult gesture to notice under so much metal. "She goes by Kit."

"She told me Mouse."

"That's what Brisen called her, and his staff. She prefers Kit."

Kit. Like a kitten. He rolls his eyes, that is no proper name for a grown woman. "And she has enlisted?"

"Yes."

The errand boy -Kit, he reminds himself, is pretty. Pretty and young and he contemplates whether or not this is the reason for Phasma's softness towards her. "I wasn't aware that you required an assistant."

"She'll deal with menial tasks."

"Do you not think it could be a bad idea? Hiring a girl who was just a suspect in investigation?"

"Kylo cleared her."

"Yes, his mystical mysticism."

"Do not mock the Force," she warns. "The Supreme Leader does no-"

"Yes. I am well aware. Just make sure that she does not make any trouble for us. Yes?"

"Yes General."


	2. Chapter 2

**So A/N: This is a sort of poorly planned star wars fic. There is only one planet (Because I didn't think that I could manage more than one) with countries and cities modeled after the movie planets. Story begins before the events of Jakku and star Killer base, describing stuff leading up to it. If there are continuity errors or anything that just seems out of wack, please leave a note. That little italicized thing in the beginning is a glimpse of the future, pretty long into the distant future.**

 **WARNING: Nothing in this is super graphic. However there are references to past abuse. For General Hux (who will be so out of character in this that I am ashamed, if anyone has any pointers on how to make him the terrible bastard I know he is, please help!) there is the physical and mental abuse at the hands of his father, some hints to brain screwing up by the First Order and in the Academy. For Our main character Kit (who like anyone who makes an oc I hope everyone loves) there is the history of life on the Market, the black market trade in human lives, and her brief time sexually abused as a pleasure woman. There are also hints to early trauma in her life and consensual intercourse. I'll try to be delicate (I don't like writing terrible things) but if anyone gets offended please leave a note and I'll tone it down.**

 **P.S: I am looking for cover art work for this. Most fanart I find online is Hux with Kylo and I kind of wanted something similar to him and Kit. If this inspires anyone well, i'd be grateful. I am a terrible artist so… there's that. Let the games begin:**

Since running away, Kit has learned that the best way to survive is to lay low and make yourself useful. She is good at both. When Phasma does not need her, which is often, she busies herself elsewhere. For a time she practically lived in the med unit, learning to stitch and suture and tend to the ill. After that she could be found with the mechanics, learning to fix minor technical problems both at the base and on board transport vessels. Droids did most of meal prep and distribution, as well as the cleaning, but she tended to droid maintenance and repair. The only place she tended to avoid was the weapons room, as if understanding that trust was not yet entirely hers.

On board the transport vessel she had been jammed with dozens of other officers. Once on the base in Mygeeto she was made to share a room with 15 other girls. Kit did not mind, the beds were comfortable and she was not unaccustomed to sharing sleeping space with others. Slavers had packed the girls tightly into hot, dimly lit boxes for slumber. However she had more recently slept alone, and the noises of other people moving and breathing kept her uneasy and awake for days before exhaustion claimed her.

She prefers not to be naked around her new roommates. If she gets changed from her night shirt into her uniform she often waits for others to leave or takes her clothing into the fresher. It earns her some odd looks but no one really comments. Showers are somewhat easier, the curtain providing her a measure of security. She hasn't always had such easy access to water and the daily showers are a luxury.

Kit quickly learns why the First Order took in Brisen for questioning. There is a mole in their ranks, someone who has been feeding information to the Resistance. Brisen was perhaps suspected because how little he should be suspected, a twisted sort of logic. Now she was in Mygeeto, where higher level officials were waiting to be interrogated. Kit wondered how much blood would be spilled. The place was grey and cold and very wet. When moving around she often took a heavy jacket, First Order Standard issue.

She is preparing for bed, nearly a week after settling into the base, when her roommates come in. Mina and Anriel are both lovely girls. When Kit first sees them she thinks that they would have fetched a high price at the Market. Mina stands tall and willow thin, dark hair streaming down her shoulders, where Anriel is shorter and curvier, brown hair cut into a short bob. They cling to each other, shushing each other's laughter. Mina throws a bag onto her bed, then cuts her eyes at Kit.

"Do you think we should?" She asks.

"We do have a third dress. And she's alright looking." The shorter girl shrugs. "Why not?"

And then they are both walking to her, smiling with more familiarity than she had seen since coming here. "Are you just turning in tonight?"

"Yes." She nods.

"Why not come out for a bit. There's a little spot in the lower districts." She tilts her head to the bag on her bed. "We think the dress will fit."

Anriel pulls a mass of purple fabric from the bag. Uncrumpled, Kit can make out a short dress, made for casual parties or dancing. It's not too dissimilar from the things she wore when they put her on display, or when- Kit cuts off that thought before it goes too far. She was trying to take what Phasma offered her, a new life with no memory of former weakness. It was harder than it sounded that day from her Captain's reassuring voice.

She takes the dress from Anriel's hand and smiles sweetly, almost warmly. Both girls look somewhat startled as she shows equal parts bashfulness and excitement. _This is a role_ , she thinks. "Do you really want me to come?"

"Yes. Yes we do," Mina nods, smiling.

So Kit puts on the dress, knowing that she will be publicly displaying more skin than she has shown in years, and lets Mina and Anriel play with her hair and apply color, all the while playing the role of the shy innocent. When they are finished preparing themselves she dons her overcoat and follows them out of the barracks and to a bar.

She is momentarily distracted by the structures, tall and ornate and imposing. It is, mercifully, not raining, but there is still a chill, even more so in her new clothing. Once inside the three girls remove their coats and give them to a doorman. Kit is aware of herself, of her body, of all that she has tried so hard to hide. 'This is an experiment.' To see how much she'd changed. How much, if at all, she had moved away from her past.

She is surprised to recognize some faces. Other officers at the base. Mina or Anriel, Kit's not paying much attention to them anymore, tells her that many comrades come here to unwind. Mina and Anriel quickly gain the attention of multiple young suitors. Kit receives their rejects. She manages to brush most off, feigning a shyness that made them uncomfortable and confused. Only one seems immune to this tactic, seems to find it charming. He crowds into her space, offers to buy her a drink (she hasn't had a drop of alcohol), and finally when she cannot take it anymore she excuses herself and leaves.

The cool air is almost a relief until the door opens and she turns to see the young man she just fled from. He is handsome, handsome and persistent. He offers her a cig, she refuses politely. It is when he leans over her, hand on the small of her back, that she snaps. Her body acts of its own accord, she twists like a snake and grabs the man's wrist, jerking his arm back and pushing him face first into a wall.

"What the hell?" He grunts, astonished, and Kit pulls back.

"I'm sorry, it's just," her hands cover her lips as she steps away, not bothering to return to that stupid club for her coat.

She shuffles down unfamiliar streets, wanting nothing more than to return to her bed and sleep, pretend this night never happened. It was stupid, a stupid game played by a stupid girl.

When she hears footsteps behind her, heavy and quick in the quiet night, she turns to see the young officer she'd assaulted. In his hand was her coat.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes quickly. "I should've taken the hint when you left."

She shakes her head and gratefully wraps the fabric around her. "Not your fault."

"Yes, it was. May I walk you back to the barracks?"

Maybe this wasn't a bad idea. "Yes. You can call me Kit."

He offers his hand for her to shake. "Dopheld. Dopheld Mitaka."

If there is one thing that Hux despises it is unnecessary interactions. It is expected, however, that the general developed some sort of report with his equals and his betters.

The Cantina was not the classiest of spots and he supposed that was the reason for its popularity. People came to escape, however briefly, the rigidity of the regime. The dimly lit rooms, jaunty music, and strong spirits, it was a momentary release. Hux hated it there.

One of the other men gestures to the bar. There are three girls seated at the stools, two of which are swarmed by other officers. "It is a crime," he says, "that those two are always covered up."

Another directs his attention towards the third girl. "Isn't that Phasma's new little assistant?"

It was, Hux realized, somewhat awestruck. Her lack of layers, the exposed skin, drew attention to her curves but also made her look significantly smaller. He could see cosmetics, evidence that special attention had been given to her hair and face.

She looked ridiculous. Whoever had done her makeup for her did not know how to work with her natural coloring, the overall effect being a clownish mask. Her body, unused to such exposure, was hunched and bent, as if trying to hide every ample. The exposed skin, he could see a myriad of scars, not the least of which a long line over her collar bone. Over exaggerated laughter and tight smiles. Her eyes were wide, like that of a skittish, panicked doe, and Hux was not at all surprised when she pushed past Mitaka and made her exit.

"Heard she was a whore when they found her. Some old man's play thing."

Another man laughed. "Maybe that's why Phasma's so keen on her. Maybe she's giving her a little something extra behind closed doors."

Phasma is a woman. For this reason, many of her actions are more heavily speculated. Clearly she must have done something unseemly to get to her position, and not the usual, respected unseemly acts of undermining and, perhaps, murder. Hux knows that she is aware of the rumors passed around, but he has never heard her speak up on them. So he does not either.

After listening to banter for a few minutes more he pretends to look at his comm device and sighs. "It seems that I cannot have a night off." He frowns, then forces a smile at the men around him. Each nod in understanding, some make a jib. He is out of the bar just in time to see Mitaka take the hand of the errand boy (Mouse- no, Kit) and her soft smile.

 _It was an experiment_ , she thinks, and though she did not get the results she wanted, they were good results. She made a friend, at the very least. Not Mina or Anriel, who gave her hard glances when they returned to the barracks, hours after she had. They had not attempted to speak to her since. Mitaka, the young man who took her home, proved to be a fine companion. She now could see what she took to be aggression in the fuzzy darkness of the club to be his own attempt at overcoming shyness. Kit took her meals with him, listened to his stories. He did not pursue her again and Kit suspected that he had never really been interested with her to begin with. Not with the way he moons after Anriel.

They are seated beside each other one day, he at his station, her leaning over to help him with a file problem, when the masked man walks by. Kit, this close, can see the severity of Mitaka's response to him, sudden trembling and sweat on his brow. It is not dissimilar other reactions she's seen from others.

"Who is he?" She asks.

Mitaka gives her a look of disbelief. "That is Kylo Ren. Leader of the Knights of Ren."

"You are frightened of him?"

Mitaka swallows hard and nods. "He is very strong. Trained in the ways of the Sith. He can hear your thoughts, enter your mind." He stumbles over his next words, hands flexing as if he cannot find a phrase for his thoughts. "It's like fingers."

Kit vaguely remembers the feeling of Ren in her head. It had not felt like fingers probing, more like a hand on glass.

"I would avoid him," Mitaka warned, perhaps mistaking her questions for interest.

She smiles at him and shakes her head. Kit has had male friends before him, some who even knew she was a girl. Most have wanted her to avoid trouble.

When she looks up again she decides that her old excuse might work. She doesn't find trouble, trouble finds her, as told by the way Kylo Ren is now staring at her. Maybe. Of course no one can really tell with the mask covering his face, covering his eyes.

However, the way his head is turned towards her suggests a certain directness, a special attention that even Mitaka notices.

"I think he's looking at you."

"I don't," she says aloud, maintaining a sort of makeshift eye contact with the commander. Inside her head she can feel the same sensation, a hand on glass, a hand tapping glass, a hand banging on glass...

She smiles at him and thinks rather loudly " _hello to you too_ ," before turning back to Mitaka with a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Let's fix this, hmm."

She does not forget the feeling of Kylo Ren's not eyes boring into her.

After the third week of interrogation a man comes to the General's office. He is an older man who addresses himself as Admiral Argive. Sitting in the seat across from Hux, Argive looks like a man who was once muscular but has lost it over years of inactivity. He also looks displeased and Hux does not have to wait long to find out why.

"My men, General. I cannot have you simply removing them from duty. It's irresponsible."

"It is necessary that some officers be pulled from their post. We are searching for a subversive agent in our ranks."

The Admiral fixes him with an annoyed look and Hux is reminded, once again, that to many of the people he works with he is still young.

"These are my men General. I've lived with them and worked with them. I would know if one was a traitor."

Hux is near responding when there is a knock on his door. "You may enter," he calls, ignoring the indignant look on the Admiral's face. It is rude, he knows, to allow another to enter when he is in the middle of a meeting. He doesn't really care.

It is Kit (he remembers her name now) and she enters the room with a small stack of files in her arms. She often does this task, collecting the hard copies of information and reports and raking them to their intended destinations. Data pads are less likely to be used now, since no one knows how the mole is accessing information but the most likely means is through hacking. He has seen her more and more frequently because of this.

"It's the expense reports," she says, looking back and forth between the men. She knows that she has interrupted something.

"Put them here," Hux responds, taping his desk. She does as she is bid, places the stack near his right hand and with a slight bow makes her exit. The door has not yet closed, so she can make out the words the General says.

"Maybe you are overlooking the faults in your men. Maybe you are avoiding your own hand in this matter."

Standing near the door, Kit can also hear the beginning of the Admiral's response.

"Listen here, you little bastard-"

Things have not cooled down when she returns, this time a tray in hand. The last thing she hears before the conversation stutters at her presence is the Admiral's snarling "I will tear you down." Hux looks surprised to see her again, especially since she didn't knock.

"Refreshments?"

Hux shakes his head, eyes intent on her face for a moment, but she isn't looking at him. Kit is pouring a glass of brown liquid, spirits most likely, and offering it to the Admiral. The old man gives her a grin, she responds with one of her own, mostly polite, but with a hint of flirtation that Hux may have imagined.

"You were saying," He begins tersely, "something about my access to necessary materials."

"Oh yes," Argive sips from his glass, looking absolutely self-assured. "The Director of Subterrel is an old friend of mine. From what I hear, he's been getting very large orders recently. A cordial conversation with him and trade can become very difficult."

Hux stiffens, considers what to say. He doesn't have a chance, really. Not a moment later Argive's haughty features begin to drop. His head falls to the desk with a loud, graceless thud. The General is so stunned for a moment that he does not move. Not until Kit, almost forgotten, speaks.

"What do you want to do with him?"

His gaze flits to her, then to the glass on the table. There was only one glass on the tray, Kit had only planned on serving one person.

"Is he dead?"

"No, but he can be. Very easily."

His eyes settle on her again. "What were you thinking?"

"That he looks like a man who can make trouble. It's best to get rid of him, quickly."

"You acted without thinking," he frowned, standing to his feet and walking to the man. "He could've been reasoned with."

"No he couldn't. But you're probably right. Killing him is excessive and suspicious. There are other ways."

"What did you give him?" He asked, watching her roll up the older man's sleeves.

"A mild sedative. Nothing too strong, he's a large man. Shouldn't last for more than an hour or two at most."

Hux nods, watching her hands in action. "What are you doing?"

She continued to press a syringe, presumably the source of the sedative, into his upper arm. "Making it look as if our Admiral has a secret. I'll have to get one of the lights from the medbay to make them look older, but it should make people wonder if the Admiral was an addict."

She leaves and Hux shifts on his feet, uncomfortable with his own inactivity. He is doing nothing, nothing to help or to hinder, and his lack of involvement leaves him feeling useless. When Kit returns she has one of the medbay lights used to spur on healing activity and when she passes it over Argive's elbow it the bright red patches fade to dull bruises and old rings. If she had kept going the marks would disappear.

She places another glass where Hux was sitting, half fills it with liquid before dumping the rest of the decanter into the waste basket.

"Alcohol doesn't mix well with meds." She mutters, pulling down and straightening the sleeve. That done she runs her fingers through her hair, messing it a bit. Then she cracks open the door, straightens her shoulders, takes in air, and screams.

Hux is shocked, but he understands the reason for it when people come. It would not have done for the man to pass out and they calmly take him to the medbay. Meddroids look the man over, do blood work, and find that the mixing of sedatives and alcohol may have been the cause. Rumors spread from there, vultures seeing the possibility of advancement from Argive's fall. Kit may have done the starter work, but the cut throat mentality of the First Order finished the job for her.

Only Phasma seems to know. "She's very useful, isn't she?"

Hux only nods.

Though no one contests formally that Argive was an addict, the higher ups force Hux to take a brief leave of absence, only a week. He suspects that they know something, perhaps Argive had whispered of his potential threats before coming to speak with him. By the end of the fourth day after the altercation Hux is packed and prepared to return to his home in Arkanis.

Before he has time to leave there are attempts at contact from several of his father's relatives. Hux is the black sheep of the family but he has risen high in the First Order ranks. There are many people well prepared to leech off that success and though he is frustrated, he is not entirely surprised that many have decided to drop in on him. He knows nothing of entertaining guests, people who promise to be there the night after he arrives, so Phasma offers him the services of her ward.

' _She is useful_ ,' Hux thinks, as the girl trails after him with one small bag and no hint to what transpired days ago.

Kit stares out the window at the green landscape. The Finalizer only could take them so far, a carriage would take them the rest of the way. Though the sky is grey and cloudy there is no rain, a surprise to Hux. His childhood was only speckled with clear weather between downpours, rarely any sun. Once at the Hux home Kit immediately goes to the droids, doling out instructions for food and rooms. Several of the expected guests have not to subtly hinted to spending the night, chambers needed to be prepared.

Hux can hear the sound of her voice in the next room. It isn't entirely unpleasant, he thinks, almost a distraction from how much he hates it here. He hates the stupid wallpaper and the ridiculous furniture. And he hates the tap of rain against the window pane, a warning of the coming monsoon.

It doesn't take long for him to find a cabinet containing alcohol. And he drinks, really drinks, glass after glass of Corellian rum. At some point, in the hazy midst of the rain and her voice somewhere far off, he dozes on the couch in the room where his father once struck him hard enough to loosen a tooth, one word blazing in his memories ("Useless").

When he wakes the lights in the sitting room have been dimmed. He can see a small droid dusting the high arches of the mantel.

"Oh, you're awake Master Armitage," it said, pseudo feminine voice only slightly static. "Miss Kit has some questions for you about seating arrangements."

"Where is she?" He asked, tasting the grit in his mouth.

"She retired to her chambers some time ago."

Hux took soft steps to the small room at bottom of the stairs. For a time there had been human servants employed here, before there was no longer the need for a full time staff, and this is where they would have slept. The door is open, he can see random articles of clothing, the window wide open. There is a spray of rain water coming in, it may ruin the carpet, but at that moment he does not care. The girl was cleared by Ren, but what if she was really just a spy?

The front door opens, he can hear the loud creak of the rusted hinges and the sound of wet feet on the tiles. He emerges from the chamber and sees her walking in his general direction, soaked through her uniform shirt. Her hair is wet now, curlier. Lashes are wet too, damp around wide eyes, eyes as alive as her smile.

If she had looked like this that night in the Cantina, he might not have been able to resist. He might have thrown Mitaka to the ground and pushed her into an alley, kissed her till she couldn't breathe. Or maybe he wouldn't have, he is aware that he is not entirely sober, that like a weakling he turned to drink to make this haunted place slightly more bearable.

She is making this place slightly more bearable.

The smile falls when she sees him.


	3. Chapter 3

Kit has never heard a storm.

The lazy rains of Mygeeto had been dull and cold. Brisen's land had soft rainfall, the sound comforting and warm. Storms, storms were another thing entirely. The downpour was heavy, hard drops falling and splattering loudly against every surface. She loved the sound of booming sound of thunder, though the first time she jumped and nearly knocked over a glass set. Blue Lightening crackled through the air with such energy, her skin tingled. Here, the storms were alive.

" _This is how worlds begin_ ," she thought, leaning out the window. The wind whistled, she could see trees in the distance bending to its will. " _This is how they end_."

She is half out of her clothing by then, the droids all engaged in various household tasks. The General had abandoned her to the planning, she hadn't seen much of him since they arrived.

Kit, before she can think, is running out of the house, towards the heavy, wet trees. Leaves rip free from their branches, scattering before her. The wind blows, tugs at the wet fabric of her shirt and nearly tips her over, stings her cheeks, and her thick hair nearly soaked within minutes. She holds her hands to the sky, catching drops of rain on her face and in her palms. "This is life."

Returning to the house, uncaring that she will drip all over the fancy floors, Kit nearly skips back to her room? A darkly clad figure, unmistakable red hair, stop her in her tracks.

His eyes are wide and liquid, he hasn't entirely slept off the drink. He is staring at her and Kit is aware of how disgracefully out of uniform she is, how dirty her feet must be, the mess she's leaving behind.

The General is staring at her.

She has yet to see him really lose his temper. Ren's tantrums are nearly common place around the base, and though the General is strict and severe, she has yet to see him abandon his cool reserve. She wonders if this is how he looks before doling out punishment.

He takes steps to her, slightly off balance but firm all the same. Determined. Kit has yet to decide what she's going to do in response, endure, fight, or flight, but then his eyes are fixed on her chin and words, somewhat slurred, are coming from his mouth.

She hears "beautiful" and then his hand is on her chin, tilting her face up to kiss her.

Her first response is to freeze, to accept. It had been the advice of Noresha years ago, an aging woman whose job it was to train girls like the one Kit had once been. Respond, if you can, pretend to want it if possible. If not, take it, don't resist. Don't fight it. She had seen trouble in Kit, she was sure. The girl was pretty enough to be popular in a brothel but not, Noresha had thought, enough to be bought to be a true companion. As a companion she might be able to build a repertoire, an understanding, with her owner. In a whore house all that fight would get her killed, quickly.

Kit had never, even as a personal pleasure woman (not a companion, never that) learned not to fight. Maybe, looking back, that was the reason that the man she had been gifted to treated her so violently.

She reflects on this later. The immediate response had less to do with advice and more to do with surprise. Hux had a reputation of stoicism, of abstinence from all vices, and tonight alone she had seen him both drunk and... wanting?

 _This, this is an experiment_ , she thinks to herself. His hands are on her cheek, cool fingers bare of the leather gloves he usually wears. She leans into him, surges forward on her toes so that he doesn't have to crane his neck so much. She kisses him back, lips mimicking his own desperate motions, and he responds to it with a deep groan that for one second sounds of relief.

Kit has been kissed before. Girls in training shared affectionate touches for comfort, for contact. For practice. Her former owner cared little about such an act, preferring instead to use other parts of her body for so called intimacy.

Kit shuts her eyes and decides that she likes kissing. Likes the General's hands on her cheek, even with the acrid taste of alcohol on his lips, a taste she'll never grow accustomed to.

Hux abandons her face, instead pulling her body flush against his own with two arms wrapped around the curve of her back. He is warm, surprisingly warm, and the cool chill of the night quickly dissipates. One of his hands begins to trace up her thigh, jus grazing the hem of her shirt, and she pushes him away gently. This is an experiment, an enjoyable one, but Kit it not the sort of girl to take advantage of a drunk man.

"Bed," she says, a gentle command, one that from the darkness of his eyes she can see he misunderstood. Still, it makes it easier to guide him up the stairs, into his bedroom. She pushes him onto the bed, he looks up at her as if this is some sort of challenge to him. When Kit begins to move the blanket over him, confusion fills his features and he leans in for another kiss.

She allows, but does not encourage him this time, pulling away quickly.

"You have guests tomorrow, General." She says, stroking the hair from his face. Hair in a colorful disarray. She likes it this way.

His face loses its previous warmth. His mouth sets in a hard, angry line, eyes piercing her. "Get out."

She backs out of his chamber, aware that he is watching her. When she is out of his line of sight she runs down the stairs, back to her chamber. The room is smaller, the bed thin. She's had much worse.

There is a small puddle at her window, evidence of her previous carelessness, leaving it open. Fighting against the wind, she manages to shut it before removing her still damp clothes and retiring to bed.

That night she dreams of resting on the shoulders of a man who makes her feel the word father. She is young then, small enough to be carried in the older man's arms. Small enough to not know of loss or bearing a wicked mark.

When she awakes it is morning and she pretends the wetness on her pillow is from the rain.

The General all but ignores her the next day, which is somehow both fine and discomforting. Kit would be fine if there was no repeat of the previous night's events (though she did feel herself flush at the thought of them), but she did not want him angry with her either. It is midday, she's spent most of her time going over droids' progress with the guests' arrival, when the General steps into the main room. She hesitates, then approaches him cautiously, noticing his back stiffens with her approach.

"About last night," she begins, surprised to find herself nervous.

He cuts her off before she can continue. "I don't know what you mean."

"Well, you were drunk. Or not sober. Perhaps overtired." She is babbling. This was not how she planned it at all. "Either way, you were not yourself. And I did not want to take advantage of you. It wouldn't be..." she struggled to find a word. "Sporting?"

Hux doesn't look at her, but at least he isn't pretending that he doesn't hear her. "You were afraid of taking advantage of me?"

She nods. Kit had seen enough to know that there were many people who did not shy away from using drugs or alcohol or violence to get what they want. Him kissing her, he wasn't himself, and he was not in the right mind. It would have been wrong.

He looks confused, as if he doesn't understand, and she isn't surprised. She bobs her head again, preparing to move away from him, when a hand, gloved this time, wraps around her wrist.

"You are saying that if I had not been... indisposed... you would have wanted me?"

Kit turns to meet his gaze and nods. Want may be too strong a word, but acceptance is a bit too weak. She doesn't know if it's a lie or not. She only knows that this time when he kisses her she is (slightly) more prepared.

Looking back on that kiss she sees it as a question. Her response, tentative as it was, had been a yes. He is about to slide his hands to her waist, to grip her close, when a droid's voice pulls them away.

"Yes, T8R4," Kit asked, surprised by her own breathlessness.

"Lady Thrynia has arrived Master Armitage."

"I will greet her," he replies, somewhat tersely. The droid takes no notice. The General pulls on his jacket and she surprises herself by straightening his tie. He gives her an odd look, one that has her second guessing her actions, before walking away.

Kit keeps to herself while the guests are present. She stays in what looks like a study, out of sight but nearby enough that she can be easily accessed if need be. There is one large desk in the center of the room, pressed near the window. It's still raining, but she is now less inclined to run into it. Would hate to make a spectacle of herself. There are many books to keep her from being bored, if she could only stop thinking.

How much does she really want from the General? How much is she willing to give?

There is a painting on the wall, one that she continues to look at. At first glance she thought it was a portrait of Hux, but she quickly realized that it was of an older man with thicker features. The arch of his brow was heavy and jutting over sunken eyes, a large nose and wide jaw. The only thing he really shared with the General was the shock of red hair and the haughty expression. The overall affect was not unattractive.

She finds the General attractive, in an odd way. Not classically, like described in books or seen in holos. There is an alieness to his features, in the sharpness of his cheekbones paired with a strong jaw, the frank set of his eyes. She realizes then that she has no idea what color his eyes are, blue or green.

Kit also finds the General unfit for romance or intimacy. And she may not want that kind of attention from him, she isn't sure, but she has no intention of becoming his play thing, his kept woman.

There were other things to consider. Like how long she intended to stay with the Order. It was fine, food and cloths and security, but there was a part of her that did not see a future here. Did not see a point in her being here.

She is still musing these things when a droid enters.

"K4L6," Kit addresses calmly.

"There's a bit of a situation, Miss Kit."

Droids are very good at preforming tasks. If programmed they can keep a home spotless, prepare a decent meal, even torture a man half to death. However, no one thought to program a droid to catch rodents.

Kit had not thought to look at the state of the dishware but now, less than an hour before dinner is to be served, she is met with soiled plates and bowls and silverware. Somehow she can't imagine simply sanitizing them and giving them to the guests.

"They haven't touched the pantry, correct?" From her inspection upon arrival there was no evidence that the furry creatures had contaminated the food.

"Yes, Miss Kit," K4L6 responded.

"There have to be other dishes," she thinks aloud. "K4L6. Begin sanitizing these. Deep clean, whatever you can. Just in case I can't find anything else."

She plunders the house, opening boxes and chests and closets. In the end she does manage to find a substitute, dishes that are cleaner if not somewhat dusty and of a poorer quality, but not before stumbling upon other things. After moving the dishes to be sanitized she continues her exploits, telling K4L6 that she will be on the second floor if needed. There are Boxes filled with random papers, images and holos. Trunks packed messily with clothes, faded and frayed with age. In one room she found a chest full of toys and wondered if this is where the General played as a youth. It's hard to imagine him as a child, imagine him as anything but the solemn man who commanded the lives of others, almost without question. She gives it her best try, though all her mind can conjure is a little boy, face uncharacteristically serious for someone of his age, shouting orders at his toys and feeling vexed when his orders are not followed to the letter, even in his imagination. The thought makes her smile a bit.

It almost seems wasteful, packing away things like this to never be used again. Kit pulls a long, blue coat from a box, it's pretty color somewhat yellowed now, and slides her arms through the holes. It nearly touches the ground, the sleeves are entirely too large, but it is warm. It would have been useful, on the strikingly cool Kessel nights.

The next item in the chest is a green dress, obviously fashioned for a time long since passed. The neckline plunges, the skirt is long and layered to an impractical volume.

Kit pushes the dress to her chest and stands before the mirror, looking at its full length. She knows she looks ridiculous in things like this, has known since looking in the mirror after that night in the Cantina. And that's fine with her, that she cannot manage the clothes of pretty girls, because she does not want to be a display. They are cumbersome and difficult and she has always preferred the modest, simple cut of men's clothing anyway.

 _'Still_ ,' Kit half admits to her reflection, ' _it would be nice to be pretty, just once_.'

"There was a problem?" A deep voice behind her demands, pulling her from her thoughts.

If Hux is to be honest, and he usually is, he hates these people. He recognizes most of them, most of their faces. Names mean nothing, he has given most of them new names, names that are far more fitting. ( _He wonders if Lord Ness would be smiling so brightly if he knew that his host called him "the imbecilic hog" in his mind, not to be confused with young Lady Wenra, "the imbecilic harlot," who had been mooning over him since her arrival_.)

He doesn't have to say much, which is fine, because most of the time one of his father's relatives seeks to dominate the conversation, to garner his attentions. He also doesn't have to be particularly attentive, being able to follow the mood of the room. He can tell when to 'oooh,' when to 'ah' when to look sympathetic, when to laugh. This is also fine, because it gives him time to think about the young woman who now haunts his ancestral home.

This was not planned. She was not supposed to be here with him, it was a matter of convenience after so many inconveniences (he looks each one in the eyes) were thrust upon him. It had not even been his idea to bring her, Phasma had practically forced the girl on him.

This was not the result of weeks of pining. Hux is not the sort of man to allow himself to be distracted by a girl, to spend his days and nights daydreaming and romanticizing like some unseasoned youth. He is not the sort of man to allow himself to be distracted, to be taken in.

So perhaps he did pay attention to her. The girl had barely been removed from her position of suspicion when Phasma enlisted her. It was pragmatic to watch her for signs of espionage, even necessary that her movements be monitored so that any subversive activity be easily identified. And if when watching her he noticed certain things, certain little things, about her, it was not at all odd. Only to be expected really. She was a very hard worker, something he admired in any officer. She never complained or lazed about, never did anything with half effort. Never got into any trouble.

Hux noticed, also, that Kit had a lovely mouth, full and pink. Her eyes were large, thickly lashed, and attentive. Her form was curvy, full and athletic. She was not beautiful, though he almost wished that she was. It would be easier, he thinks, to justify the attraction, if one could call it that. But beauty wasn't everything, he supposed. If so he would have already kissed imbecilic harlot and fucked Officer Mina Sinatet. He could still remember the simpering look on her face that night at the Cantina, the meaningful glances she kept sending his way. He half suspects that Mina and her friend selected Kit to accompany them that night so that her awkward looks would make their beauty far greater by comparison. Be it his training at the Academy or his own life experiences, Hux had gained a certain level of resistance to blatant seduction and pretty things. It wasn't that Kit didn't try to draw his attention, for every girl trying to catch his eye there were at least a thousand doing their best to go unnoticed by him. It wasn't that she was unattractive, because she was actually quite pretty, quite charming to look at. It wasn't that her past was a mystery, because frankly he did not care.

Maybe it was because last night, rain soaked and smiling, she looked truly alive.

Someone is laughing and he looks up briefly to see that it is because Old Coward (not to be confused with Lying Coward, a cousin closer to his age who boasts of prowess in battles that never happened) is telling a story. Hux doesn't particularly care enough at the moment to fake a response.

She had responded to him, kissed him back. Maybe it was less about attraction for her, more focused on finding a foot in for Intel of some sort. On a slightly less suspicious note, she could also be trying to garner his sympathy. It was not an uncommon thing for officers to do things for their superiors in exchange for security or special treatment. These tasks could range anywhere from tending to their pets to delivering packages to warming their beds. Kit would have more reason than nearly anyone to try to utilize that kind of association.

He sees the silver droid that seemed to have become Kit's assistant rushing down the corridor. It stopped before him.

"Miss Kit suggested that I inform you that dinner will be approximately 36 minutes late?"

"Is there a problem?" He asked, not really caring. Standing, he and the droid go out into the hall, away from potential eavesdroppers.

"It has been handled," the droid replies. "Miss Kit thinks that we should invest in some traps for unwanted guests."

Hux entertains the thought for a moment, looking at the people who have come to see him, before realizing that he misunderstood. "Mice?"

"Yes sir. They haven't touched the pantry, but they did get into the dishes. Miss Kit found an alternative set."

"And where is Miss Kit now?"

"She said that she would be on the second floor."

When he finds Kit she is in one of the many rooms in the manor that haven't been touched in years. She is on her knees in front of a box and his first thought is that she is looking for any files that could be taken back to the Resistance. He quickly rejects the idea, the house is almost always empty and any files or Intel she found would probably no longer be of consequence. Besides, she looks more interested in his great great whoever's coat than finding crucial information.

The next garment she pulls from the trunk is a hideous monstrosity of a dress, Hux cannot imagine what time it would have been in style and who would have thought to buy it. Kit holds it in front of her, pressed to her chest. Standing in front of the mirror with her back to him, Kit cannot see that the General is watching her. However, he can see her reflection. The color of the dress, a forest green, isn't so bad. It might look nice on her.

She sways, as if in thought, and Hux steps into the room. It is an excuse, a pretense to come see her, in reality he just wants a second chance at what they started last night.

"There was a problem?"

She jumps, she turns, she is embarrassed that he somehow managed to find her, to approach her, without her hearing.

' _You're losing your touch_ ,' she thinks, annoyed.

She didn't have to see him to recognize the clipped, accented voice of the General.

"Umm," eloquence abandons her. She's been caught off guard, she does not like this. "What?"

"A problem. I saw the droids bustling."

"Oh, yes." She drops the dress, his gaze flits briefly to the fall of the fabric as it crumples on the floor then back to her face. She doesn't know how to feel about this scrutiny. "It was something about the dishes, no big worry. Crisis averted."

He doesn't smile, doesn't give any indication that he heard a single word.

"Is there something I can do for you, Sir?" She doesn't like feeling uncertain, caught off guard. He needs to say something.

On the other hand, the General is not accustomed to asking for things. It implies a vulnerability, the chance to be told no. So, he doesn't ask if she'd be willing to be his distraction. Instead, he simply says, "I am not drunk."

Kit takes care not to step on the old dress when she walks to him, collecting her thoughts. Hux does not move to meet her, instead stands, waiting.

'He's in his civvies,' she realizes for the first time. Still formally dressed, but without the heavy layers of his uniform he looks somehow smaller. But his limbs are still long, she realizes when his hands snatch forwards to pull her to him a little quicker. And he is still tall, towering over her so that she has to crane her neck to look him in the eyes. Shoulders are still broad, her hands find purchase there as he bends forward, crowding her space.

Kit surges forward to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck and standing on her toes. He holds her face with one of his hands, brushing over her cheek and reaching to grip her by the hair. She panics, just for a moment, but all he is doing is holding, not pulling or inflicting pain. Just holding, tugging slightly every so often.

 _'This is not bad_ ,' she thinks.

His other hand rests at the small of her back, gripping tightly to keep her in place, keep her pressed close to him. Help her keep her balance.

Kit puts her hand on his chest, pushing him away. He looks vexed again, as if ready to demand what she's going as soon as he catches his breath. His mouth parts slightly when she begins shrugging out of the thick blue jacket she'd found.

"Warm," she mutters as an explanation, and he is pleased to hear that she's a little breathless too. Her hair is messier now, cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink. Hux is feeling the heat rise as well and resists the urge to remove his shirt. There isn't enough time for what that might lead to. Instead he loosens his tie and jerks up his sleeves, only giving a brief thought to the creases and wrinkles.

She is watching him, eyes on the sinewy lines of his arms, the part of his collar. She's still in full uniform, the only clothes that she owns, and he is seeing nothing new. Only now, after just having her pressed up against him and holding her in his hands, Hux is more aware of the body her clothes are covering.

As if she can read his thoughts, Kit brings two hands, trembling slightly, to her own collar. She undoes the first three buttons only before closing the space between them once again, before trying to kiss herself into distraction. He jumps in surprise, as if not expecting this much enthusiasm.

His hand, somewhat tentatively, finds her breast and she nearly leaps from his arms. It's a contact she wasn't expecting, though it is not aggressive to say the least. Almost casual, almost lazy. He squeezes, brushes his thumb over her, and she decides that this isn't bad either.

'It's just sensation. That's all this is.' She squirms a bit, hand clutching his cheek. Sometimes it was better not to think, sometimes it was best just to feel.

This is not an experiment, Kit admits. This is an attempt at replacement. Replacing violence and aggression, the sickness and domination that she associates with this kind of contact with something more bearable, maybe even enjoyable. Abuse given in exchange for intimacy.

Kit is not an idiot. She knows that a few sweet kisses (because these kisses are sweet) are not enough to erase a past of hideous memories and anger, hideous memories and self-loathing. But in the back of her mind she remembers a kind voice telling her that nothing is forever, that she will grow and move past it all. That she is worth so much more.

 _She had nearly screamed that night, nearly yelled obscenities and cried, but she was so tired, so very tired. The nightmares had still been fresh then._

 _"How do you know?" She had choked out, throat hoarse and thick with unspilled tears._

 _"Because I have a past as well. We all do." His hand on her back was comforting, not raising any alarms. "I remember the day that I finally felt able to accept it. To make my peace with it. You will know the sensation, when you feel it." And he had stayed beside her, until she fell asleep._

 _'This is not peace_ ,' she thinks, burying her face into the General's throat and kissing him there, ' _but it is something. Maybe a step to_ -'

His tongue prods at her lips and she instinctually clenches them shut. He nearly pulls back, she puts a hand in the hair at the base of his skull to keep him in place. Her tongue drags across his lips, then delves into his mouth. This is new.

This is not something she gets to enjoy for very long. There is the sound of very heavy, very human footsteps at the door and both Kit and Hux are in control of themselves enough to know that they do not wish to be found, not like this. So he pushes her away and goes to the closet to compose himself, leaving her to do the same while putting the clothes back in the trunk. A guest, a large man in a suit a tad too small, smiles at her. "Well, hello dear. Why aren't you down there, enjoying the company?"

His eyes are fixated below her chin, on her neck and the flesh exposed by the missing three buttons. She frowns.

"I'm preparing the rooms, for the guests who will be staying the night."

"Oh, of course. I will be staying, my young daughter and I." He leer a moment longer before looking around the room. "Have you seen old Armitage? Can't seem to find the little bastard anywhere." He laughs at his own joke, one that Kit is certain she wouldn't find funny even if she did understand it. She wants him gone for more reason than one.

"The General is in the attic, I believe."

"Thank you dear. Maybe I'll see you later tonight."

When his footsteps are far enough away the General emerges from his hiding spot. He is aloof again, face nearer to his natural color, hair smoothed back into place. His expression when he looks at her gives nothing away, no indication of what they were doing not five minutes ago. It's not a surprise (it is a bit of a disappointment).

"Dinner will probably be ready soon," she says, rebuttoning her shirt. It makes it easier not to look at him when he walks away.

Dinner is a boring affair. Between bites of well prepared food and broken sentences of other people's conversations, Hux thinks.

She is not present and he wonders where she could be. A storm rages outside, he can hear it, can imagine her in the midst of it.

This will not be a onetime thing (this is already not a onetime thing). He is attracted to her, the reason behind it is irrelevant. What is relevant, however, is how far he is willing to go with her.

Hux is not a virgin, and he knows that she isn't either. As a pleasure woman who refuses to give up her past, Kit could have laid with dozens of men, have any number of diseases or problems. It would be wise, he think, not to penetrate her.

( _There are other things to take into consideration, like the oh so funny joke made by the Imbecilic Harlot's father, Idiot Brown Nose. Hux knows the consequences of misplaced seed. He is the result of it, after all_ ).

But he will kiss her. He will feel her and hold her and when he is bored with her, when he is finally free of whatever attraction pulls him to her, he will be done with her.

Kit cannot drive a transport. Luckily for her, she does not need to. There is a driver, one that with a strange look and a questioning brow agrees to drive her into town. Wind beats at the vessel, shaking it a bit, but the drive to town is short. The blue jacket protects her from the elements when she climbs out, informing the driver to wait for her. The style is more than a little dated, but it draws less attention than her First Order uniform would have.

The mouse traps were somewhat difficult to find, mostly because navigating a new place in heavy rain is almost never easy. The few people she sees regard her warily, offering no assistance.

Walking, she realizes how easy it would be to run now. She could be gone in the blink of an eye, a stranger in an odd coat that no one ever saw again.

The problem is, she doesn't really want to run.

Armitage. She tastes that name. It is odd to hear, it took her a moment to realize that the man had been referring to the General. She hadn't thought to consider that he might have a first name.

Kit will run, as soon as it suits her. She can disappear, can do it easily.

Now she returns to the transport to lay down some mousetraps.

By the time she returns to the house the party has moved back to the sitting room. She checks the rest of the house for evidence of rodents, finding none. The pantry is still her main concern, it's where they should have most heavily trafficked, but once again she sees nothing, no nibbles or droppings. The cleaning droid tells her the best places to lay the traps and when that is done, Kit feels like a hot shower would not be a bad idea. Afterwards she is sleepy and hungry. Life with the Order had weakened her, made her accustomed to regular meals. There was a time when she could go for days on little more than a piece of bread.

There are leftovers in the kitchen. She puts one of the night sets she finds in the servants room, a grey pair of soft pants with a matching shirt that fit her loosely, pleased to see that most of the company has retired to their room or another part of the house.

Kit hears him this time, over the wet sound of her own chewing (table manners have rarely meant anything to her) when he comes from behind her. He doesn't announce himself, she does not greet him. She does not speed up her eating, instead taking the time to really taste the food in front of her, food that is common fare for people like him. The taste is rich, almost too strong, and she's worried that she will be ill. To his credit he does not clear his throat or rush her. He waits. And when she is finished, standing from the small table in the kitchen, he steps forward and grabs her wrist, pulling her away and leaving her dishes for the droids.

Once in his room, he wastes no time, they are as they were before. Kissing heavily, his hands roaming over her. He likes her breasts she realizes, smirking at the baseness of it. The General is almost normal, in some ways.

Hux groans against her, clutches her closer, and she can feel him pressed up against her stomach. And she tenses, preparing for what feels inevitable, for what history has taught her is certain to come. Anxiety rises in her stomach, she has found her line.

He presses against her, holds her in place, and begins to grind himself against her. She had not been aware, in her initial flurry of panic, of this motion, but his hand is still holding her breast and he seems more than content to rut against her in a steady, though somewhat irregular, rhythm. She turns her head to look at him, face sheened with sweat, cheeks flushed red. His eyes are dark, lids half closed.

His hand abandons her breast to grip her thigh and hike her leg up to his waist. He is still against her, she can feel him between her legs. To have him against her, this intimately without penetration, is odd and new, as is the sensation stirring in her stomach. Her leg buckles, his grip tightens, and when she begins to make an unfamiliar noise, he kisses her again. His tongue pushes between her lips, meeting hers, and she decides that she likes this. Really likes this.

It doesn't take long. His motions speed up, become less controlled, and in the moments that follow the General is groaning into her mouth, tightening his grip on her thigh, and through the layers of fabric that separate them she can feel him twitching in release. The last few thrusts of his hips are harsher, she clutches at his hair to keep herself upright, whimpering at the stimulation.

His hand drops her hip and he steps away, ending the kiss abruptly. The buildup of sensations that Kit has felt, the warmth, suddenly goes cold. He moves away from her, straightening himself, and she feels uncomfortable. Uncertain. She does not like this. "You can go now," he says, voice still hoarse. He is not looking at her.

It takes her longer than she would like to respond. "Yes Sir." Kit gives a jerky nod and leaves the room. She feels oddly untouched. There are no phantom sensations of hands on her, no sweaty, smothered feeling. No fluids dripping from between her legs.

This is a replacement, and she clings to the sensations he gave her, the not unpleasant feelings.


	4. Chapter 4

Their arrangement continues like this for weeks. In Hux manor the General takes any chance he can to come find her. Their encounters are hurried, rushed, and always they leave each other immediately. The first few times they are standing, it takes days before he pushes her to the bed and crawls above her, startling her momentarily before kissing her again. When they return to Mygeeto Kit does not go to see him, thinks that their interactions are over. It takes three days for him to send an officer to collect her and bring her to his chambers.

His rooms are large, larger, she thinks, than the barracks she shares with over a dozen other girls. Here he has a sitting room, a private bath, and a small office in addition to his bed chamber. They are also more private, entrance requires a personalized code.

"I haven't seen you," he muttered somewhat tightly. These rooms felt more like him than the random halls and chambers of Hux manor. More like his domain.

He had seen her. Their paths still crossed frequently, brief formal interactions, passing in halls and meetings. He had seen her, but perhaps not as he wanted to. She hadn't known.

"I didn't know that you would still want-" the voice breaks off, she doesn't want to imply that this arrangement relies solely on his whims. It is a double edged sword, on one hand it seems that he is in control, in the other it seems that she has some sort of power, something she is able to hold over him.

"Do you want to be here?" He asks.

She nods, beginning to feel more certain.

It is not too different from their hurried encounters at the manor, at least not at first. They are nearly fully clothed each time and one of them, usually Kit, leaves as soon as she recovers. They don't say much. It is remarkably impersonal.

She thinks it started the first time she yawned into his mouth, sleepy from the early morning paired with a day of trailing after Phasma. He offered her a cup of caf, which she sipped slowly, while he asked about her day.

It may have been the first time he saw her tattoo and she didn't shy away from his hand there.

It may have been the first night that she came in while he ate and she sat beside him, humming while she looked over a complaint filed against a Stormtrooper.

Weeks pass, conversations randomly spark. Hux learns that Kit likes poems, reading them not writing them. She can remember random lines that she read somewhere. He knows very few poems, most that he read and somehow remembered at the Academy. Most are about war, the perils and triumphs. She likes the way they sound, coming from him, though the content isn't her favorite. He quickly realizes that she prefers romantic, obscure subjects. Things of emotion.

Hux enjoys puzzles, enjoys games and riddles. Kit thinks it springs from his competitive side, each match a chance to prove his skill, his superiority. What she does not expect is the patience that he shows when telling her of the games, teaching her the rules and showing her strategies. She likes the card games the best, they are often simplest, so they play those the most. One day, when she wins, Kit sees - knows she sees - the corners of Hux's mouth turn up into a ghost of a smile.

He hates the outdoors. She notices this in Felucia and Kothlis, two starkly different environments, Felucia being entirely wild while Kothlis, still bright and green, was vastly civilized. Hux, she noticed, was on high alert, even stiffer than usual. He is not jumpy, far from it. The General is as composed as ever, collected and cool, but she notices that he keeps more watch on his perimeter and on the people who surround him. He's a control freak, Kit knows this, and removing him from his controlled environment is one way to drive up his stress. One night she pushes him onto the bed and climbs above him, just to see how he responds to the lack of control. She remembers the look in his eyes that first night back on Arkanis, the challenge. The joy in the challenge is still there, she thrills in their pretend game, the pretend power struggle. He could have her on her back in an instant, but he stays beneath her, allows her to grip his hair and hold him down.

He hates caf, grimaces every time at the taste. So Kit brings him cups of tea instead, very little sweeteners. She likes flowers, so Hux puts a few in his room, in his office. "It's late. You can stay if you wish." Their eyes meet briefly, he sucks on a cigarette.

"I don't think so," she says, pushing her buttons into place. "I have to be there for role." "Well, the couch is open if you change your mind."

Kit rolls her eyes before putting her hat on, kissing his cheek, and leaving.

One day, in curiosity more than anything, she shoves her hand into his trousers and wraps her fingers around his length, tugging him into completion. Another day he finds her sensitive spots with his fingers and returns the favor. Clothing is shed until they are nearly naked when they come into each other arms. She lazes in his rooms, sometimes completing work or reading right beside him. Humming, her voice, becomes a common sound. It is eerily quiet, when she is gone.

Hux notices, in the first week, that she only calls him Sir or General, and he is fine with it until he hears her call someone else General too.

"It's her title," Kit says later, when he brings it up.

He will not say that it now makes him feel strange, that she has never called him by his name, as if she's not actually touching him but simply a position. Instead he says, "It's ridiculous, after what we do, that you can't call me by my name. In private, I am Hux. Understood?"

"Fine," she mutters, pulling off her hat and removing her hair from its tie. Kit had long since learned that he preferred it down.

The first time she reached her peak she looked surprised, he actually pulled away from her.

"I've never heard you make that sound before," he croaked out.

"Oh," her hips jerked forward, still seeking out the firmness of his body. Her fingers trembled on his arms. She was still coming down. "I've never... that feeling..."

"You've never orgasmed before?" He asked, somewhat insulted. The offence is somewhat soothed by her smile, the complete abandon and euphoria that softens her features. The knowledge that it was he who made her look like this, feel this way.

Kit shook her head and grinned. "No. Never." She wrapped her arms around him, trapping him once again between her thighs. "Come back to me."

He brings his hands down to cup her bottom, pulling her flush against him. ' _Let's try that again_.'

And another day Hux walks into the dining hall and sees Dopheld Mitaka sitting very close to Kit. They are both looking at the same document and when Kit turns her head to look at him, her lips nearly brush his cheek. Hux has never been gentle, but that night he was rough, hands gripping everywhere as he held her against the wall. He sucked a bruise onto the pale flesh of her neck and ignored her glare when she left.

The next day, around noon, he calls her into his office. Her uniform, he notices, is higher around the collar than usual, covering evidence of last night.

"Yes General," she asked, somewhat curtly.

"We are in private, Kit."

"Fine. What is it Hux?"

A knock at the door alerts the arrival of a kitchen droid carrying one large tray. When it leaves (Hux rolls his eyes when Kit says "Thank you K8L7") he gestures for her to sit. She does, settling slowly into the chair across from his.

"I thought we could eat lunch," he mutters, almost casually.

"Lunch?"

"Yes," he pulls back the lid on the tray, revealing a sandwich and a bowl of soup.

She gives him an odd look. "I want the sandwich."

"Fine by me," he responds, though the look he gives the soup is less than pleased.

They munch on their separate meals, he grimaces a bit at the taste. Finally she cracks a grin and Hux looks up. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Just a story I was going to tell Doph- Mitaka today. Guess it can wait till tomorrow."

He frowns and recovers quickly, but not quickly enough that she does not notice it. "You can tell it to me. Might as well say something."

And that is when she chances a guess. After telling him about the young officer who'd come to the medbay because of a pen in his leg, no explanation, Kit gave Hux a fleeting, thoughtful look. "Mitaka would have laughed. Or he would have been absolutely horrified."

She can tell from the set of his features that he is not pleased with the mention of the other man. Which was, in her opinion, a bit like jealousy. Which was, also in her opinion, more than a bit ridiculous. She thought to how Mitaka has been complaining about the General's increasing severity and strictness. She had not thought, at the time, that Hux's actions were personally directed at her friend.

"At least it would've distracted him from Anriel," she said offhandedly, biting into her sandwich.

Hux looks confused, or his annoyed and still somehow haughty approximation of confused. "What's that?"

Kit has to suppress a grin. "Oh, yes. Anriel, she's member of the air infantry. A copilot or something like that. Mitaka's absolutely mad about her. Most of the time he's asking for advice on how to woo her."

Hux's expression softens a bit and this time she looks at him, really looks at him, and he knows that he has been found out. "So there was really no explanation? About the leg- the pen ink the leg?"

"None," we can pretend this never happened, "and we kept asking. It was a superficial wound, obviously, but he was worried about ink poisoning or something. We put some bacta on it and told him to get out."

She laughs and thinks, for one moment, that she saw him smile.

One night, Kit wakes up in a bed that is not her own.

She has never slept there before, never. But that night, after Hux pulls her close, she dozes off in the warmth of his arms.

She must have jumped, the sudden movement startling the man behind her. 'How late is it?' She scrambles for her comm and sees that she's only been asleep for two hours max. Still plenty of time to get back to the barrack before the morning roll call.

"You have nightmares." Hux's voice is lazy with sleep. When she cranes her neck to look at him, his eyes are still shut. It may have sounded like a sentence, but Kit could feel that it required a response.

"Sometimes."

"There have been complaints, in the barracks. You aren't always quiet or still."

"I'm sorry?" She responds, uncertain.

The bed shifts as he moves himself closer. "Did you have them now? Tonight?"

She shakes her head, rolling over. It is then that she realizes that his arms are still around her. "Not tonight."

He bends his face forward, brings his lips to hers. She leans forward, expecting that he wants more, but Hux holds her in place and falls back to sleep. In the darkness she begins to make out the shape of his face, the sharp angles softened in sleep. She kisses his cheek again, rolling over in bed to follow him in sleep. The next morning she is reprimanded for missing morning roll.

In Kothlis Hux is increasingly agitated, increasingly annoyed. Kit realizes that she has no idea what his job is, what he actually does as general, but she knows that it must cause him a lot of stress. She half expects that he will begin to turn her away, to lash out at her, but if anything he begins to crave her company more. He will call for her at random hours throughout the day, seem frustrated if she takes long to get to his rooms. One night he tells her that he will be leaving the next day, leaving for a week, and she doesn't need to ask to know that she will not be going with him. It explains why he, instead of packing the empty bag for his trip, is roughly pulling her to sit in his lap. The desk chair shakes beneath their weight but he ignores it, instead taking her hips into his hands and moving her to his rhythm. His mouth finds her breast through the fabric of her blouse, one hand reaching to unbutton it. She arches into him, into every touch, and he groans loudly before abandoning her shirt in exchange for shoving his fingers inside of her pants, inside of her. She gasps, mewls into his touch, and he finds that he wants more. That he had always wanted more.

He presses his lips against her throat, then hisses in her ear. "Can I?"

Kit stills (he almost pulls back) then nods. "Yes." She has never heard him ask for anything before. Always a demand, always an order. And she firmly believes that if she had said no, he would have been content.

Hux grips her legs again, pulling her close, and stands. Their pants are already on the floor so when he sets her on the bed and kisses her, his main concern becomes removing her underwear. She palms him through his briefs, applying a pressure that has him gripping her wrists to keep her still.

The feeling of him inside of her is not painful, though it is uncomfortable. Unfamiliar, after so many years without that sort of contact. Unfamiliar, because it was nothing like it had been before. She wasn't frightened. She wasn't in pain, wasn't angry. There was pleasure in the act, mild and warm, and she held Hux close as he lost himself inside of her. It's a quick affair, he hasn't done this in a while. And when it was done, when he was done, they laid together with him still on top of her, still inside her, as he caught his breath.

It's when he gets up and begins packing again that she wants to leave. Kit stands and begins grabbing her clothes from the floor.

"Where are you going?" He asks, causing her to jump.

"You have to pack."

Something resembling concern passes over his features. "You can stay here. Tonight."

She smiles, trying to reassure him. "I can't. Roll call is in the morning, I shouldn't be late twice."

Kit kisses him before rushing out the door. It is only when she is nearly at her door that she realizes that there is something dripping from between her legs. It is late so there are few people to run into, and she is grateful for that.

It is, however, earlier than she usually returns to her room. So she isn't entirely surprised to see that she isn't the only one returning to the barracks. Mina is stepping into the room as Kit slips out of her pants again. Kit, following the other girl's gaze, knows that she is staring at the evidence of her coupling with the General. And she is ashamed.

Mina sees this in her face and offers a smile. It is an illusion of comfort, but Kit is too distracted by ghosts to notice the façade.

"So this is why you haven't been here often. Anriel thought that you were working late."

"I - I was -" Kit flushes a deeper shade of red and wishes that she had had the forethought to bathe first.

"Don't look so embarrassed," Mina says, hushed voice and warm welcoming smile. "No one here is going to judge you. Lots of them are doing it."

Kit looks around and notices that more than a few beds are empty. Some would be on the night shift, but some might be out doing the same things she does with the General.

"Its human nature," Mina continues, "And an easy way to... distinguish yourself among the higher ranks. So. Who is he?"

Kit turns to her. She had been blind to it before, sorting through her own emotions and sensations for reality, but now she could see the predatory glint in her roommate's eyes. She was searching for something. Dirt, perhaps, though if what Mina said was true, fraternizing among comrades was not uncommon. Kit wonders if it was herself that would be the dirt on someone else. A tool to undermine, a fleck on the otherwise pristine mantel of some high ranking official. She and Hux were discreet, she believed, but spending a week in his home - nearly alone- was bound to cause some speculation.

"Just another officer," Kit responds, watching disappointment flood the other girl's features. "He's kind. To me. He's kind to me."

Mina recovers quickly, Kit is almost impressed. "Well then I'm glad for you." She pats her shoulder, smiles again. "Get some rest. Hmm?"


	5. Chapter 5

Hux is gone for a week. He does not come to say goodbye to her, which she supposes makes sense. Kit is not the sort of person to sit idle. She doesn't have time to realize that he is absent, not when she is rushing about, trying to preform whatever random task is required of her. The base seems to notice, however, that their stern leader is missing. The first two nights that Kit comes to the barrack early Mina gives her a sly look, as if finding a connection between the General's departure and her sudden change of pattern. Kit makes a point of finding late jobs after that, things to keep her occupied later into the night. It is at night ( _only at night_ she tells herself) that she remembers that Hux is not accessible. And it makes sense, doesn't it, that she would notice it then because she's spent most of her recent nights with him. However, there is no time for toying with these thoughts for very long and Kit has more than enough to do for distraction.

Still, in the night (and some random moments throughout the day) she is forced to remember their last night spent together. It wasn't that she was angry with him or upset. It was simply that she was confused. It had seemed to be part of their arrangement not to perform the actual act, just dance around it. She recalls the night that he held her in sleep, thinks that is must not be a coincidence. Having sex with Hux ( _let's stop beating around the bush and call a spade a spade_ ) forced her to look at the changes in their relationship, in their interactions. In how she saw him ( _he's human. A human who may care for her_ ). And the change in herself. She had enjoyed the act, the intimacy, had been too carried away to remember until after she had left his room. Too carried away to remember that she was not supposed to enjoy these things. And not meant to trust men - at least not one's whose primary goal seems to be sleeping with her.

She won't bring it up unless he does. And he won't, she knows this. The man cringes away from his own emotions, if he has any (he does).

The decision to leave the base had not been made after long hours of deliberation. It was more of an impulse. One moment she was removing a pair of elastic gloves after a shift in the medbay. Then there was the thought that some fresh air might be good. She hadn't seen much of the reclusive territory, having only left the base when accompanying Phasma.

The First Order Uniform was too many layers in the warm climate, the fabric far too thick. She had some practice with this, hiding a woman's body beneath layer and layers of clothing, but the fabric had been loose then, allowing for some breathability, and the climate had been far cooler. The First Order black was stifling, Kit allowed herself the luxury of rolling up her sleeves and undoing a few buttons on her shirt when moving closer to the town.

It was not the bustling market center that Kessel had been. Nor was it the infrastructural giant that Mygeeto was. However, there was a sort if bustling nature about it, a comfortable busyness that was not overwhelming to partake in. Kit felt that she could move among them and attract an appropriate amount of attention. No one would gawk and gape, though the presence of a stranger would undoubtedly be noticed by some. She is still, however, less than familiar with the area and must remain alert. She thinks this is the reason she felt the woman before she saw her.

A woman approaches from behind her booth. She must have recognized the uniform, the First Order Insignia, because she approaches in slow steps. Kit has to pause for her.

"You are with the Order, yes?" she asks, voice shaky and uncertain in the way of speakers who do not share a langauge.

"Yes," Kit responds, feeling somewhat uncertain herself. She wears their uniforms and provides her help, but she is not certain if she is really _with_ them. There's a slight line, she feels at time, keeping her from the few that share her rank.

The woman holds out her hand at an angle. Her fingers twitch slightly, beckoning. "Please. Come."

Kit follows her. The woman's head and shoulder are shrouded in a sheer, dark cover. Her legs, thin and hairy, are visible below the knee. She looks over her shoulder every so often to be sure that Kit is still following.

When they finally stop it is in front of one of the beige buildings that make up their homes. Kit frowns, hesitating before continuing to follow the woman, but she turns once more with imploring eyes and Kit feels the need to follow. Once inside, her eyes adjust to the dim light and she can make out a young boy on a low cot. He appears to be asleep, if it wasn't for the concerned hand that passes over his forehead Kit would think that he was simply resting.

"He has not… eyes open… not in days." She is still stumbling over words and translations. Kit watches as she gestures at the boy, whose face in pale and sheened with sweat. "You help him?"

Kit nods, moving forward to the boy's side. He lets out a weak groan, throwing his body to the side. She reaches out her hand, pushing hair from his forehead and feeling the heat there. He is sweaty and hot.

"Water. We need water," Kit cups her hands to her lips and makes a drinking motion. The woman nods and moves to a table, holding up a pitcher.

"Blankets?" She asks, grabbing the one that already covers the boy. "More blankets?"

As the woman scurries about the close quarters, Kit turns her attention to the boy. She doesn't know what to do. Very rarely does someone come to the medbay with a fever. She knows, from her time elsewhere, that one of the better ways to rid someone of a fever is helping them to sweat it out. This is what she will try to do, but she knows she has to keep him hydrated.

Kit quickly removes the blanket to make sure that his sleeping cot is dry. She pats down on the straw pallet three times, decides that it is dry enough, and moves to cover him again. And that's when she sees it. The swell on his hip. It is a purple blotch, red at the tip, and looks tender, throbbing to the touch.

The pocket knife is removed from her jacket pocket. Kit barely has time to register the mother's panicked noise before moving his legs off the cot and driving the edge of the blade into the boil.

A white, viscous fluid seeps from the cut. Kit applies pressure, helping to squeeze out the sickness. It takes some time, maybe thirty minutes, before the white fluid gives way to healthy, red blood. She demands a clean, wet rag to wipe him with, then sits with his mother and waits. He remains wrapped in blankets. Frequently Kit checks his thigh to make sure that what comes from his cut is still red, to clean and rebandage the wound. His mother pours slow drops of water between his cracked lips and props his head up to allow him to swallow.

The fever breaks around two hours later. He awakes about an hour after that. Kit watches his face, still pale and thin, alert but still fatigued. Despite his mother's protests she leaves, only to return later with bacta and a shot of antibiotics for the boy's leg. It was pilfered from the medbay, and though she knows with the meticulous record keeping someone will notice, she highly doubts that anyone will care.

When Kit returns the next day the boy is asleep again, but his mother assures her in broken words that he was awake for hours but he still needs rest, he is so weak. Kit allows herself to be pushed into a hard chair, allows the woman to pour her a weak broth and call it soup. She drinks it, grateful. She's had worse.

"No one," Kit speaks slowly and feels rude. She wishes that she knew a few words of the woman's language, at least a phrase or two. "No one come to help?"

The woman shakes her head. "No pay." Kit understands. She has no money, so no one came.

When she leaves, after administering the treatment, the woman tries to force fruit into her hands. Kit smiles, tries to refuse, but quickly sees that it is easier to just agree. Her salary in the Order is not huge by most standards, to her it is the most substantial and constant living she has ever secured. So she is perhaps a bit more generous than she would have been when leaving credits on the table beside the woman's pitcher when she leaves.

Hux is gone for a week. He is not the sort of person to wallow in self-serving sentiments, such as pining or loneliness... or regret. There is more to do here, in the labs of Kothlis, more important things than thinking about a wide eyed girl. Deliberations and planning among other generals and high ranking officials, Hux prepares himself to have his own design butchered and torn down, flaw by flaw. It is only at night, laid down in his bed, that he gives a thought to Kit. He tries to give himself to distraction, the memory of a warm, soft body and a sweet smile, but thinking of her right now means thinking about the bliss of being inside her and the... unpleasantness of her fleeing from his chamber, uniform sloppily thrown on and a torn expression on her face.

' _You've ruined everything_ ,' he thinks to himself, staring at the stone ceiling. The facility was old, dating back to the first era of the Empire, the rule of Palpatine and Vader. He allowed himself to muse in the forefathers of the Empire, the men who laid the foundation for the First Order.

Hux bears few illusions about who he is. He knows that he is unkind, not the sort of person someone would pick as a... friend. He knows that he has killed, as destroyed cities and families. Knows that there are many, an entire Resistance, that sees his actions as abominable and would gladly have him punished for his so called crimes. He cannot, however, see what he is doing as wrong. In the Academy Hux had been raised on the belief that the Republic was incompetent and ineffective. Chaos and suffering reigned, only through domination under one power could peace be achieved. Everything he had done was merely a means, a justifiable means, to that end.

Hux does not like the idea that he needlessly hurt her.

He knows little of her past, but he knows what she was. And he knows that there are things she won't talk about, in the way that she tenses and panics when he does certain things. Approaches her too quickly, moves too abruptly. Lingers above her too long, holds her a little too tight ( _he panics a bit as well, not quite understanding the need to… secure her_ ). He doesn't want her upset ( _he wants her happy_ ). It's beneficial for him, that she not be unhappy. Her unhappiness means less time with her, or perhaps less pleasant time. The sex was a mistake, but a pleasurable mistake, one that he would like to make again. If she wants. Only if she wants (but he wants).

Kothlis is a good place, an ideal place. The Bothans are knowledgeable, are trustworthy, if not a little strange from years in seclusion. Hux and the four other men who accompanied him there leave the facility having full confidence.

It was decided that Hux would handle the designs. The size, the structure, the scale. It would, however, have to fall within the restraints set by math and resources and logic. And these men, these brilliant odd men, would be in charge of constructing the important pieces.

Hux is well accustomed to being looked to as an authority figure. But have a room full of intellectuals and men who are both older than him by decades and in some cases outrank him… it was a bit jarring even for him.

"I expect updates," he says, shaking hands with one of the architects.

"Of course General. Every step of the way."

When Hux returns to base his first thoughts are of Kit, of seeing her, but there are meetings to attend and people to see. It is late in the evening before he is able to retire to his room and she does not come to him that night.

The next day he sees her with Phasma, clipboard in her hands and jotting down notes. She glances up at him, smiles briefly, and Hux steps forward. Plays at conversation with the Captain, just to watch Kit's reaction to his proximity.

It isn't negative.

That night she kisses him warmly and he comes to her with relief. When she reaches for his belt he jerks her hands away, releases her hair from his fist.

"Do we need to talk?" He asked.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Do you want to talk?"

He shakes his head. "No. No." _Stop over thinking it, you idiot_. "This is fine."

So they resume a familiar dance, one that both have missed. She slips out of her shoes, tripping so he has to hold her, and he has to crane forward even more to kiss her. His hands find the small of her back, forcing her closer and she laughs, a sound only pulled partially from nervousness. It feels good, they both realize. To be back here. To be back with each other. It is not the same, however, and they quickly have to come to terms with it.

It is Hux who ends it. "I think that we should talk."

Kit frowns and tries to moves away from him, nodding. _So much for ignoring it_. He keeps her close to him with a hand on the small of her back, the other hand brushing hair from her face.

"Tell me about last week," he prompts.

Taking his hand, Kit moves to sit at one of his desk chairs. Hux sits in the other. Believing what he wants is a report of the going ons of the base, that is what she tells him. Minor disputes, damage issues, security alerts, Kit is prepared to list any minor thing she knows until she sees Hux's eyes glaze over in boredom.

"I went off base a couple of days ago," she begins and Hux shifts in his seat, suddenly more attentive.

"Oh?"

"Yes. The locals are friendly. A woman gave me fruit to look in on her son."

"Were you accompanied by anyone?"

She immediately thinks that he is referring to Mitaka. "No. I went alone. It was an off duty day."

He frowns. "I don't like you leaving the base alone."

"It was perfectly safe."

"Next time, take an escort."

"Other officers go off base all the time," she straightens in her chair, features reflecting annoyance. "Off base alone."

"Well you're not everyone," he snaps, standing.

"You're overreacting!"

"You never go off base, what could have possessed you to do so now?" Suspicion, a sentiment he believed that he had left behind, creeped into his thoughts again. With him gone, there was more than enough time to pass off information to someone without anyone noticing.

"I was bored," she starts, head turned up to glare at him. Her features soften as she finishes the sentence. "Without you. I was bored without you."

 _'I missed you_ ,' is what he hears.

"The last time we were together..."

"We're fine," she says gently, standing to come to him. "We're fine. You didn't do anything wrong." Kit grabs for his hand, briefly wondering if she'd overstepped her bounds. Maybe he wasn't worried that he'd upset her. Maybe he just wanted to tell her that it would never happen again. Maybe he wanted to tell her that it would happen again, whenever he wanted, whether she wanted it or not.

Hux's hand skims over her cheek. "And you..."

"I wanted you," she brings his hand to her lips. "I want you."

The General surges against her, pushing her against his desk. The contents rattle, something crashes to the ground. He is too wrapped up in her (in relief) to care. "Sir," she sighs, turning her face upwards to find his lips, but Hux threads his fingers in her hair and jerks her away, bending forward to hiss in her ear.

"Try again."

"Hux."

He smirks, satisfied arrogance embodied, and she _wants_. "Better."

After, she pulls herself from his bed to find clothing.

"You can stay tonight," Hux says, sitting up to reach for a cigarette. She wrinkles her nose in distaste, not noticing that his eyes are intent on her face. His fingers stroke over the paper surface before putting it back on his nightstand.

"People will talk," she smirks. "But I will shower before I go."

Hux's eyes trail to her thighs, to what he has left there, and he nearly chokes on his own spittle, watching her walk to his bathroom. He follows her, only catching a glimpse of her form before she pulls the curtain and turns away. It brings him back to that first night in Arkanis, when she was free and wet beneath the open sky. He had wanted to have her again, but something in the set of her shoulders behind the sheer barrier makes him leave.


	6. Chapter 6

For nearly two weeks Kit is able to believe an actual relationship has bloomed between her and the General. On Kothlis there is work to be done, always work. He is away for most of the day, but his nights be still spends with her, kissing and talking and exploring a new method of intimacy. She feels safe with him, a surprising sentiment, and he seems every day less guarded and formal with her. More her companion.

No true intimacy can be found when one party has power over the other. And illusions are never pretty when they shatter.

Kit has begun to notice the tension in her General, as if he is winding tighter and tighter each day until he finally snaps. He spends hours at his desk, hunched over pages and files and plans that she cannot begin to comprehend. It happens when she, after days of watching him avoid sleep and food, cannot keep quiet. There is a shadow over his face, darkness cast under his eyes and sharp lines of exhaustion. When she tries to reach out to him, hands on his shoulders and carding through his hair, Hux brushes her away without a word.

There was a setback in construction that day. When moving one of the pieces of his machinery onto one of the transports, something was damaged. Now he's running numbers in his head, calculating how much time and resources had been wasted and how much time it would take to replace it.

"You look tired," she says, somewhat tentatively. "And hungry." Kit doesn't remember what she says after that, supposes that it doesn't really matter. What matters is that, after a few misplaced sentences, the General's hand connects with her cheek. Not the soft touch she'd become accustomed to. A fierce strike.

It is open handed. Not the hardest she'd ever felt, not the worst. She picks herself off the floor, doesn't touch the smarting cheek. She hears his voice, snarling something about her being a "stupid girl" and "how dare she assume that- blah blah blah." The details aren't important. All that matters is that Kit has many lines. Hux crossed one of them when she allowed him, encouraged him even, to he kissed her into false romance. Another when she felt him push inside of her. He would not cross this one.

His face is red, unbecomingly so. Handsome features twisted into a hideous snarl. "Get out," he growls and she is already at the door.

It takes him six days to realize that she was not coming back. Hux does not send for her this time until three days later, the officer who returns claiming that she was not in the barrack. That he could not find her. That is when he starts to get annoyed.

He still sees her in the halls, in the midst of random tasks. He sees the bruise darken to a bluish blotch and fade into a pale green smear. Phasma keeps her close. They cross paths, she does not squirm beneath his gaze but she does not allow herself to stay in his presence for longer than necessary. She doesn't avoid his eyes, but she does not look at him with the same warmth. One day he takes a chance, tries to block her path to force her into having a genuine interaction with him.

Her eyes flash at him with such rage that it actually excites him. She is angry, really angry, and it is that, not fear, that keeps her away from him.

 _'She hates me_ ,' he thinks, and he wonders why that twists something in his gut while speeding up his pulse.

 _It is distraction_ , he thinks. Really knows it when later that day when he and Ren stand before Supreme Leader Snoke. Snoke is going on about how progress must be made, how he and Ren are failing his expectations.

Ren makes a comment, snarky and off handed in his usual style, and Hux's mouth is open to respond when an image enters his mind. One he knows that he didn't conjure up himself.

Hux has made a barrier around his mind, one that takes a great deal of effort. Always takes a piece of his concentration. He knows that it would only take one instant of weakness and probing fingers will reach inside of his mind to touch and corrupt his thoughts. Hux thinks he has had a moment of weakness (blames her for this too). Because it is the only explanation for the smug tilt of Kylo Ren's helmeted head as he looks at him, as he knows what is projecting in Hux's mind.

Kit is sprawled on her back in Hux's bed, a sight he is familiar with. She is clinging and clutching, begging on the brink of ecstasy. The body above her, holding her and pulling her close and kissing her gasping mouth, her heaving breasts, is not Hux. It's fucking Kylo. Hux has only seen his face on rare occasions, but it is too distinct to forget. The man is all broad, awkward features and wild hair and in the startlingly detailed fantasy that he has conjured Hux is forced to see Kit appraising his long, athletic form and twisting her fingers in his thick dark hair, mouth swollen and open and begging for a kiss.

In the real world Hux's fist clench. He can see the black cloud Kylo casts move out of the room. He hears Snoke make his customary, warning farewell. And then he is gone, mind fixed on one task. Find her.

When he does she is outside, pointing to something. Mitaka, the damned fool, is beside her, following the curve of her finger to a colorful bird in a nearby tree. Mitaka is telling her of the local wildlife, she gives him a sweet smile before patting his arm and giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

Hux storms over, arms behind his back. When he is less than two feet away he can hear Mitaka's voice, asking if Kit's sure that she's feeling fine. She gives a gentle assurance that has a slight edge, as if she is tired of repeating herself.

"Officer Kit," Hux nearly barks, startling them both. "My office."

She glares and presses a hand against Mitaka's arm. Hux has to grip his own arms to resist the urge to tear her grip away. "I'll be back."

Kit follows the General to his office. She is familiar with the space, with the desks and chairs, the one small window. The fact that, like most offices for figures like he and Phasma, the room is soundproof. This is the reason that the General, the calm composed General, crowds her space and decides to start a row in the middle of the workday.

"Are you fucking him?" He demands, and Kit barely has time to process his words before Hux is pushing her against a wall, hand braced beside her skull, and shouting it. "Are you fucking him too?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Sir," she responds, and the total lack of fight, of personality in her voice, throws him deeper into agitation. She is lying, she really is. She knows that Hux is suspicious of Mitaka, to the point of jealousy.

"Oh really? You don't know what I'm talking about?" He gives a sour laugh, a grin smeared across his face looking more like a sneer. "Are you fucking Kylo Ren or not?"

"Kylo?" She scoffs. "Lord Kylo Ren?"

"You heard me. Is it Ren or Mitaka?" He looms above her, eyes intent on her face. "Or is it both? I'm hardly surprised, you were trained to be a whore! It is only to be expected." Hux steps away from her to pace the floor, agitation reflecting in his movements. "Exactly how many men have you had? How many men have fucked you?" He laughs again, she feels her stomach lurch. "I cannot believe that I let you touch me. The diseases you must-"

The slap she gives surprises even her. Hux's mouth hangs open, her eyes are rimmed with red. It takes some time for her to find her voice. The words she says are choppy in the beginning, quivering, but she gains strength, gains resolve, as she speaks.

"Third," she begins, voice tight, "you 'let me touch you?' You came after me, remember? I did not go seeking you out like some-" there is a struggle. She cannot find words. "Second, you knew who I was, I kept no secrets. And do you honestly doubt the competency of your staff, of your physicians, so much that you think that they would allow me to pass through, knowing of my history, without giving me every test they can think of? And firstly, Sir General, how many women have you fucked?"

Hux actually starts at that. It is irrelevant. "Wha-"

"How many women have you fucked? How many of them were pleasure women, brought to the base or the ship to service your men? Or am I not allowed to question that?"

He steps forward, ready to demand that she be silent, but she is angry, alive and angry and he has missed this. Her animation. Her honesty ( _her_ ). "Three men, General! Three. I wasn't a girl kept in a brothel or on a corner, I wasn't passed around for a few credit. Three men, first the man I was given to, second and third were his idiotic Academy friends." She glares at him, angry and sad and she looks like she could kill him and cry. She looks betrayed. "And then you. So if I have a disease, General, it was given to me by you. By one of your whores." She pushes past him, "Just stay away from me, General, and I'll stay away from you."

She doesn't make it to the door before long fingers wrap around her wrist and yank her back to him.

"Try again," he grunts before forcing his mouth onto hers. It feels like a bite, graceless as his forces himself against her, and his hands are strong as he pushes her onto is desk, jarring it and its contents. She tries to stand, tries to find her footing, but he is already crowding her space, smothering her with his body.

She punches his chest and shrieks, furiously and manic. She doesn't hide, doesn't just accept, but he is stronger. Takes both of her wrists in one of his hands, covers her lips with his own to silence her. She tries to kick and bite and jerk in his grip, shrieks out curses that are muffled by his mouth. And he wants anything from her, anything real. Even hatred. Even rage.

' _You were the only real thing_.'

It is when Kit goes slack in his arms that Hux stops trying. Stops kissing, stops grinding against her. She freezes, she refuses to react to him at all. Her lips don't move, she isn't fighting. And the thought of what he could do to her (what he would have done to her) makes him pull back. Makes him feel a little ill.

"Kit - I-"

There is a knock on the door. Hux is staring at her, he is waiting. He needs her to say something. An admonition, a word of forgiveness. A curse, something to fill the silence But she doesn't even look at him. She fixes her face with impressive speed, rubbing her eyes and fixing her hair. Kit opens the door, gives a "Hello officer," before fleeing.

Three days later Hux wakes up in the medbay. He is tired, he is hungry, he doesn't remember coming there. The med droid is telling him that he passed out from exhaustion and malnutrition. He sits up to answers questions, because the stupid droid insists on asking him about his routine.

Her voice is a coincidence, one that he hears in the backdrop. His head jerks to see her walking down the hall, accompanied by one of the human physicians on staff. The woman has a hand on her arm, a sympathetic expression on her face. Hux notices for the first time that she looks ill, her face pale. She leaves without seeing him.

The next time he sees her is five days later. There are six other officials present, high ranking and prepared to approve of Hux's project. One of them is Commandant Brendol Hux, the General's father. There is a perfunctory meeting, Hux avoids making small talk and attempts to move the meeting forward. He removes his left glove and uses his thumbprint to unlock the datapad showing the plans.

Phasma is present, surprisingly out of her battle suit. Hux is always struck by her graceful, slim form, by how tall she is, how her features are not delicate, not conventionally beautiful. But she is still pretty.

There is some talk, some things Hux doesn't remember. What he does remember is his father, is Brendol's still unimpressed face. He hears people singing his praises, but sees his father's lack of reaction.

"You're looking thin," is all he says.

"This is just the thing," General Kilran nudges him. "Just the thing to finally finish those pesky rebels."

"It's about time that we really took it to them," another remarks, handing him a drink.

He takes it, somewhat begrudgingly in his ungloved hand, feeling the liquid cool the glass. "It's not about that," Hux frowns, not really understanding the words that he hears coming from his mouth.

"What do you mean son?"

He hates that word. Hux is young, but not to be condescended by people who are older and have not accomplished what he has.

"It's not about scaring people. Not about killing. It's about winning. Winning so we can finally make peace."

There is a moment of silence, of awkward glances, before one of the idiots bursts into laughter. And Hux's hand clenches around the untouched glass in his hand until it shatters.

He didn't even know that she was in the room, but it is barely moments later that his hand is in her fingertips. There are papers scattered on a table, pages she must have dropped in exchange for him.

"Officer Kit?" He asks.

"I brought the Labor Reports that Phasma asked for," she says by way of explanation.

"Thank you," and then there is nothing else. Nothing he can think to say. She is still holding his hand.

"Perhaps we should move to another room," Phasma says, already moving to the door. Hux thinks, not for the first time, that the Captain treats them with a certain level of knowingness, as if she had been aware of Hux's attraction to Kit for some time now. Maybe even since before that week he spent chasing her around like an unseasoned youth through the halls and chambers of his childhood home, a place previously only riddled with memories of hatred and remorse… and loneliness. He thinks back to that night at the Cantina, the conversation between idiots. Maybe Phasma hadn't chosen, hadn't singled out Kit for herself. Maybe she was chosen for him. Not a distraction. Not a sabotage. A relief.

"General Hux, you will join us after, correct?"

He nods, the sheep are herded out the door, and they are alone. Kit gestures for him to sit, he follows.

"We need to remove the glass," she says, pressing his hand gently. He nods.

Removing the shards from tender flesh takes some time. When it is done Kit moves to go to the med bay for a light, but the uninjured set of fingers still bound in leather wrap around her wrist to keep her in place.

"We need to talk."

"No, we don't."

"Yes we do," his grip tightens a fraction, she sits down again.

Hux is a man known for his eloquence. He has distinguished himself through not only having the right words, but also through knowing how to say things. A skill that some know to be equally important. In his office, with some of the most important men just doors away to approve of what may be his legacy and Kit sitting in front of him with his blood on her hands and an expression that makes him feel like less than nothing, Hux has nothing to say.

"Are you fucking Kylo Ren?"

She fixes him with an annoyed look. "This is what you want to talk about?"

He hesitates. "I don't like to think of you with other men."

"Really? Because you seemed to be thinking about my history with other men a lot."

Hux winces, more from what she is referencing than the stinging in his palm. He had been coarse with her that day. Perhaps he had overreacted. But he had still been angry, angry with her for second guessing him, angry with her for not coming back, angry with her for becoming one of Kylo's tools.

"I don't care about your past. It's who you are now that matters." In a different tone these words might have sounded comforting. Hoping for reconciliation. Hux, however, spoke with acid in his voice, a tone that was nearly dismissive.

"And all that matters now is that I am your personal whore," she scowls at him, crossing her legs in a way that spoke volumes and was probably an unconscious gesture.

Hux sneers in aggravation, in offence. "You know that this is not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" She demands, impatient. When he doesn't respond she stands, a frustrated noise escaping her lips. "You need something for your hand."

He nearly jumps from his seat, following her to the door to stop her exit. "I know what I need."

"And what is that General?" Kit asks in a bored tone, barely deigning to give him a glance.

He decides that he likes her snark, her sharp edge. Decides that he likes that she doesn't shy away from biting remarks.

 _'Only you can get away with this_ ,' he thinks. _'And only so far_.'

"This," he remarks, yanking her back to him. He loops his arms around her waist to hold her close, to press her close. "This."

"Let go of me General," she jerks, not with as much fight as before.

"Try again Kit," he chides, almost playful in his tone, in the way his arms tighten briefly around her. "We are alone remember?"

"Does that really still matter?"

"Yes. It does."

"Fine. Sir General Hux. Let me go."

He only chuckles in response. She moves her hand to press against him through the front of his pants, her lips a thin line, but Hux quickly gripped her wrist and restrained her.

"That is not what this is about," he muttered into her hair. "You know this."

"No, I don't" she asserted. "The general, the man who could have anything he wanted. And yet, you choose me. Because you wanted someone no one would care about… someone you thought you could control." She was nothing to anyone, so he could use her as he pleased. No one, not the Order nor the Resistance would care.

 _'I should run_ ,' she decides. _'The second he releases me. Forget the bandages and bacta, the expensive med lights. Just head for the hills, never look back_.'

He bends himself forward to kiss her temple, pushing hair from her forehead. "Now we both know that's a lie."

He turns her in his arms, forcing her to look at him. At his eyes.

The ground shook beneath her feet. Hux is crowding her space, smothering her against the door, but there is no desire in his touch. _'He's trying to protect me_.' There is another shock, another trembling of the ground. There is a boom, not unlike the thunder she loved, somewhere in the distance. Alarms are blaring and when Hux looks at her, his features are strained.

"We are under attack."

The strong foundations of their temporary living space is now shaking. The ages old ceiling is cracking beneath an onslaught no one saw coming. It may be the shock, but Kit is not panicking. "What do we do?"

"I have to get to the command center," he remarks, pulling away from her to tug the glove from his hands and shrug off his heavy overcoat. His right hand, unmarred, hovers over his blaster. "There I can check our defenses, look at the damage. Dole out the necessary orders."

"Should I stay here, General?"

He fixes her with a sour look that is only slightly softened by his inability to keep his balance. "Now is not the time, officer. Come."

Kit follows him through broken corridors, listening to him bark seemingly random orders to those he passes. His legs are longer than hers, his strides eating up more distance, and more than once he glances over his shoulder to check on her.

"Give me a report," he demands of the first Lieutenant he sees. The young woman is flushed, features reflecting anxiousness, but to her credit she says the words calmly.

"The attackers are unidentified, as of right now. The shields have taken on damage but are still functional."

"It looks like an aerial assault," he comments, bending over to examine the young woman's screen. Over his shoulder Kit can see the layout of the base, colors marking the places currently taking damage.

"It's both, General. There's evidence that some troops are attacking from the ground."

"Send out two x-wings to counter the aerial strike." He reaches into his pockets, looking for his comm. It had been in his jacket. "Damn it. Someone get me Phasma."

Kit comes from behind and slips her comm into his hands. As he tries to make contact with the Captain, Kit moves to one of the few vacant monitors in the bustling room. Maps are understandable, pretty self-explanatory. It is something else on the screen that catches her attention.

"Dopheld," she calls. The man, across the room, fixes her with a look of annoyance. "Kit, I don't have time to-"

"Dopheld, someone is bringing down the shields!"

Nearly everyone in the room turns to look at Kit. She looks terror stricken, unable to consider any potential options. Hux rushes to see what she sees.

"What are you talking about?"

"This, it looks like a timer. The shields go down when it hits zero."

Mitaka is at her side a moment later. In this moment Kit sees that he is not just some nervous man, Mitaka is near clinical in his observations, in his behaviors. His eyes dart along the screen. "Someone is accessing the system manually."

"Track the signal," Hux orders.

"Only if they are on base. Outside, it might take too long. They will have already moved." His expression is one of concentration, bur moments later the tightness of his brow lessens a fraction. "Here," he points to a mark on the map. "They are here."

"Can you cut it? The signal?"

"It wouldn't stop the timer."

Hux turns on his heels and storms from the room. Kit watches his back for a moment before following.

"Go back to Central," he commands.

"You can't go by yourself," she snaps back, nearly jogging to keep up with his stupidly long legs. "I'm your backup."

He releases a noise, a groan of frustration, but makes no other comment. Simply moves faster to leave her behind.

They find Hux's prey in one of the storage rooms. It is dimly lit and cluttered, very unlike the rest of the organized base. Hux can hear, over the small battle outside, the whirring of machinery. When he finds the device, the device used to hack his systems and try to bring down his base, it is abandoned. It takes one glance to see why, the deed has been done. The shields are down, leaving the base almost entirely vulnerable.

Hux barely has time to consider this when the fall of footsteps sound behind him. He turns to look over his shoulder and only just makes out the face of the traitor before a metal bar smacks the side of his head. It more than disorients him, it nearly knocks him out. The world around him slides in and out of darkness, he stumbles to catch his footing only to feel another strike, this one on his already bent back.

Somewhere in the fog he registers the sound of something clanging with impact on the ground and the tumbling of bodies. There is a grunt with effort, decidedly feminine.

Kit caught up in time to see a familiar face without a name slamming a pipe onto the General. She caught up in time to tackle the man before another shake of impact, this one stronger than before, brought some of the ceiling down over their heads and filled the room with dust. The man, recovering quickly, lounged for his pipe and Kit rolled to reach the General. To reach his blaster. It is still in its holster, she turns and pulls the trigger, expecting a shot to fire. Nothing happens. And the man is still, tripping through debris, approaching her.

 _'Malfunction?_ ' She thinks, detaching herself from her body. _'Or no ammo_?'

Another shake sends the man to the floor again, knocking over boxes. And it gives Kit enough time to remember that in the face of danger, Hux had removed his glove.

 _'This is personal_ ,' she thinks, pulling his hand to slip around the gun. ' _This is his personal weapon._ ' His finger covers the trigger, her hand covers his. A little pressure and, as the man rises to his feet, she pulls the trigger again. The noise is loud and the kick back nearly knocks her over. This time the man doesn't get up.

"Hux?" She grips his face, unconscious and unmoving, in both hands. "Hux, say something!" He still has her comm she notices.

"Phasma! This is Kit! I am with the General in the south store room, sublevel. I need help. The General needs help!"

No help arrives for two hours. The battle has ended, insurgents captured, when Phasma and some physicians arrive at the store room to find an unmoving general, his head in the young officer's lap.

It takes Hux four hours to wake up. He is on a cot in the medbay, covered by a thin blanket. Kit is the first thing he sees. She has yet to notice that he is awake, marking off something on a stack of pages in front of her.

"Kit," he croaks out, surprised by the hoarseness of his voice. She looks up and leans forward.

"Don't try to move. The doctors say that you have a concussion. You're also on some pretty strong sedatives. The base survived. Barely. We're moving out as soon as you're well an-"

"You're very pretty," he says, voice somewhat slurred.

"That would be the sedative talking," she responds, only somewhat annoyed. Not with him. With the way the earnest delivery of his compliment makes her feel.

"Are you sleeping with him?" He asks, and this time it sounds less like an accusation and more like a hesitant inquiry. She doesn't answer, frustration blooming, and he speaks again. "He wants you."

"No he doesn't."

"Yes, he does. He loves taking what I want."

This is a bad idea. Talking to him right now, is a bad idea. Like kissing a drunk man. Like standing in a storm... "General I-"

"Don't call me General. Call me Hux. Or Armitage, if you want, though it is a mouthful."

"Hux," she tries. "You need rest."

"You think that I am weak."

That startles her into silence. "Where on earth did you get that from?"

" _'You look tired_ ,'" he mutters. "As if I need looking after, like some child."

"I said that, idiot, because you looked close to collapsing. And I was right, you were in the medbay later." She comes closer to him. "You're one of the most capable men I know. But you are not immortal."

He opens his mouth, closes it, and tries again. "I am not accustomed to... to people worrying about... I should not have hit you."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"Do you want to hit me?"

 _'He would let me_ ,' she thinks. "I think you've been beaten enough."

"I won't do it again."

"No you won't. And if you do, I'll be gone."

He grins. "I'd find you."

"I wouldn't try it, if I were you. I'm very good at disappearing." She picks up her pages again, needing this to end before he says something he really means. Something he regrets. "And out of respect I won't _'look after'_ you anymore."

There is a brief silence. "I don't mind it." Another pause. "Will you come back to me?"

She barely glances up at him. "Maybe."

"Kit?"

"What?" She snaps, wanting him to be quiet.

"I missed you."

Kit bends forward and presses her mouth against his before standing up and fleeing.


	7. Chapter 7

Hux is allowed to leave the med bay three days later. The concussion was not minor but it was also not so terrible that any real damage had been done. The base is in near ruins, they make preparations to leave the next day.

"Tantooine?" Hux asks. "And who made that decision?"

"Snoke. Under Ren's suggestion." Phasma waits.

"That damned map," he groans, rubbing his face.

Hux has some not so blurry memories of some things said while on medication. Things that he very nearly regrets, but can't exactly take back now. So instead he waits for his reward, waits for Kit to return to his chambers. She does not.

The next day he notices that something is not quite right when he doesn't see her on board the Finalizer. The ship is large, but it was a rare day that he does not see her at least once. He remembers her threat, to leave without a trace, and chooses not to believe it. So he asks Phasma for the fatality reports for troopers at the Kothlis base, knowing that Kit would be her messenger.

A droid comes in her place.

In frustration more than anything Hux demands where Kit is. He does not expect an answer.

"Officer Kit has been sent to reconditioning."

Hux startles at that. "What?"

"Reconditioning General Hux. For abandoning her post."

Hux does not run to Phasma. He waits until there is a justifiable reason to go to her.

"This report is missing a page," he says after being admitted into her office.

"My mistake," she responds, searching through the stack of papers he nearly slams onto her desk.

"I was surprised you sent a droid. Is Officer Mouse otherwise occupied."

"She's been sent to reconditioning. Abandoning her post."

"Ah. And who caught her trying to go AWOL?"

"She wasn't trying to leave the base."

This confuses him. "Then how could she be-"

Phasma firmly puts the papers on the table and turns her helmeted head to face him. "Officer Kit was found inside the medbay."

Realization dawns on him. Kit was being reconditioned because she took the risk to visit him.

"She was trying to help in the infir-"

"I know about you two," Phasma interrupts flatly.

Hux swallows hard. "Oh."

"I have no issue with it. I've known for quite some time." She shifts in her seat and Hux wonders how uncomfortable her armor must be. "I gave her a task. Identify the dead. She did so. Everyone was accounted for, dead or alive. What she does, so long as she completes her tasks, is none of my concern."

"Then it wasn't you who sent her?"

"No. It wasn't."

"Then who."

Phasma hesitates. It is unfamiliar on a woman known for her bluntness. "Your father."

There are many things that the General could do. He could rush to the holding cell and demand that she be released. He could go to his father and demand an explanation. With his authority He could have the men who brought her in, who tortured her, fired. With his clearance he could touch his data pad and watch her suffer. He does none of these things. Instead, he makes preparations for her release.

Kit is considered fit to return to duty one day after Hux learns that she has been taken in. It is night when she is set free and all she can think of is getting sleep. Sleep deprivation is a part of the process, exhaustion does not describe how she feels after days with only a few stolen hours of rest.

 _'You're getting soft_ ,' she thinks, turning the knob to the barracks door. She has yet to decide, return to the general or not. It is not a decision for her to consider before a good night's rest.

There is someone in her bed. A young woman, like the other people who inhabit the room. _'She must be confused,_ ' Kit thinks before noticing that none of her personal effects, few that they were, are present.

Hobbling a bit on tinder feet, Kit goes to the barracks overseer. He is a polite, nondescript man who informs her that it is no mistake. She has been moved.

"Where?"

He gives her directions to a place she knows well enough, though she does not believe him. _'This is a joke. A prank. It isn't funny_.'

Hux's expression does not change when he opens his door. "What time did they release you?"

"About an hour ago," she responds. He is already moving away from the door, leaving it open for her to follow. "Am I really staying here Hux?"

"Yes. You are."

If it was about the sex, he would have done this already. She thinks she knows, tests to see if she is right by asking seemingly random questions. It quickly becomes obvious, whether he admits to it outright or not, that he moved her into his rooms to protect her. He believes that his father will think twice about hurting her, if she is under his protection.

Kit knows that all this will do is provoke his father more.

"I doubt your father is pleased," she shrugs, not understanding that he really is angry, angry about what happened to her, what was able to happen to her because of him. Of what he was unable to prevent. "You are carrying on with a former whore."

There is a bite around that last word, as if she tried to say it casually and failed. ' _It still hurts her_ ,' he realizes. Her past, what she almost was. What almost broke her.

' _I would break you, if only I could fix it_.' And he would. He would tear her down, bit by bit, and put her back together without the memory of her pain. He would crush her brain to remove the thoughts from her mind. Hux has never been content with what he got. He is an only child, never taught how to share. Raised in the First Order, he was taught to take, to bully for what belonged to others. He prefferred to build things himself, perfect, rather than take things as they are, naturally flawed. It's the driving force behind the new Stormtrooper regime. It's the driving force behind the Empire's eradication of the old to make way for the new.

He looks her in the eyes and knows that he cannot erase these things, no matter how hard he tries. He cannot fix her, because she is not in need of fixing. "Do not worry yourself about it. I'm only the bastard son, remember?"

Kit stands and presses her mouth to his, quickly pulling away, but he follows her, hand on the back of her neck to keep her in place, to prolong the contact.

' _I am not my past_ ,' she thinks, wrapping her arms around his neck. It is a thought that he hears, echoing somewhere in his own mind.

She is still tired. Still very hungry. But there is still blood sticking to her, dried and crusted, and the unclean feeling of her own sweaty skin. She needs to shower.

Hux watches as she walks to his fresher, favoring her left leg. He hears the sound of the water turning on and, before he can questions his motives, sheds his clothes and follows her.

She hears his footsteps over the gentle patter of water. When she glances over her shoulder he is already pulling back the curtain. He is already naked.

"Not now Hux," she sighs, turning away.

Group showers were not uncommon in the Market. Girls were piled in steaming, stuffy wash boxes and covered in floral scented soaps and oils. But after her first night with her former owner, washing a stain of shame from between her thighs while swallowing the sour bile in her throat, washing became a personal, private act for Kit. A time of cleansing, of renewal. Of private reflection. And she didn't want him ruining it.

He doesn't leave and she is prepared to yell at him (this is _hers_ ).

"You can barely stand," he mumbles with a hand on her arm. "I'm not going to let you stay in here alone."

She jerks from his grip and turns to him, planting two feet on the slippery porcelain surface, just to prove a point. "I'm fine Hux." The words are somewhat weakened by the hand she braces on the wall for support. His eyes rake over her form, and she turns her back to him. The damage inflicted on her body has always been hers. Not a display for someone else to gawk at. Here, she will not be his object of desire.

The feeling of his warmth crowding her from behind makes her feel small, as do the caressing hands on her flesh. He is smoothing soap into her back, her neck, her shoulders.

' _You are doing this now because it pleases you. One day you will get bored with her_ ,' he reminds himself. _'And this will not matter_.'

She gives a pained noise when his fingers prod a sensitive spot on her side, falling backwards onto his chest, and he wraps his arms around her to keep her upright.

 _'One day she will become like the rain and slip through my fingers like water_.' He presses a kiss to her shoulder. ' _But she is here now_.'

He washes the blood away from her back. It looks as if someone lashed her there, welts open and tender. He turns her to face him and takes a moment to look over the damage. There is a cut lip and a bruise on the left cheek. Other than this her face seems untouched. He gingerly uses his index finger to tilt her chin up, allowing him to look at the bruises that wrap around her throat. ' _Someone choked you_ ,' he thinks, and in his mind it is his father's fingers that clutch her skin. His gaze dips below her neck next, he has to force her arms to her side to get a look at her. There are bruises, yes, and an array of shallow cuts. However Hux suspects the real damage to be below the skin, and gently prods there just to be sure. She buckles again, wincing in pain, and he keeps her upright. When he holds her shoulder she cries out, alerting him to more damage. They were not gentle with her, reconditioning never is, but this does not speak to the uniform correction of behavior that Hux was accustomed to seeing in other reconditioned individuals. It seemed too random, almost like someone playing at cause and effect.

"Potentially bruised ribs," he notes aloud. There is no desire in his eyes, nothing resembling seduction in his gentle touch. This is almost clinical, his voice and probing hands, if it wasn't for the agitation in the set of his jaw. "A poorly replaced dislocated shoulder. Dehydration. Superficial cuts. I have bacta somewhere." He drops to his knees, she jumps back in surprise. He's worried, still worried, that she might fall over and his hands go to her hips, keeping her in place.

He had seen it before, when she tried to get him to leave. But up close, Hux could see the special attention given to her legs. Long cuts, deeper than those that marred her stomach, dragged down her legs. Three scrapped like claw marks into her upper thigh, and Hux is forced to imagen how they were made. They would have to remove her pants. They would have had to spread her legs. Her arms would have been bound, probably behind her back, it would explain the red skin of her wrists. Someone had taken a liking to her tattoo, her brand, he notices. They hadn't damaged it, had not slashed through the black lines or nicked them slightly, but created many of the cuts in her flesh to draw emphasis to it. He stares at this damage longer than the rest. Many still bleed. "Something is wrong with your thigh," he remarked, gripping her left leg with his hands and she pulls away.

"I'm fine Hux. Just tired." She pulls back the shower curtain and leaves him. This shower is better, better temperature than the barracks shared shower that is either bitingly cold or scorching hot. Better water pressure too. However their towels are the same, scratchy thin grey fabric that will one day be cut into rags that will later be a blanket. Waste not want not in the First Order.

After a quick dry off she pulls on a sleep set and lies down on the couch, uncaring that her hair will soak the fabric. The sofa is uncomfortable in certain places, but she is nearly asleep when two arms wrap around her and carefully pull her up.

"What are you doing out here?" Hux asks, frowning.

"You said the couch was open, not the bed."

"The bed is open."

"I can walk you know? You don't have to carry me," but she has already been deposited on the bed, already has a blanket pulled up to her chin.

"I know."

The next morning the scent of food makes Kit feel ill. It's not a sensation that surprises her, this would happen whenever she went through extended periods without eating. Hux gives her a withering look. "You need to eat."

"And I will. When I'm hungry."

"I know that they didn't feed you during reconditioning. You need to eat something."

Kit is in his rooms, which she supposes now are their rooms. She is not as concerned about the move as she had been the previous night, however she cannot find her things.

"Where is my uniform?" She asked, absentmindedly. Hux is already fully dressed, sitting at his desk.

"I had it incinerated," he responds, almost casually. "And the other is in one of your bags."

"And where is that?" She snaps, losing patience.

"I'll tell you in a week," he responds, standing to approach her with a small plate of food in his hands.

"What do you mean a-"

"Eat something. Fruit isn't exactly common on Tantooine, at least not any worth eating."

He takes a green wedge and eats it before looking at her expectantly. She follows his lead, finding the taste a bit too sweet.

"Better?" She asks. He nods. "Good. Now where are my clothes?"

Hux responds by putting the plate down in exchange for picking her up. It is a short walk before he is depositing her on his bed and pressing a kiss to her brow.

"You need rest. I think a leave of absence is in order."

"I disagree."

"Well, I am your commanding officer. It is for me to determine when you are fit for duty and when you are not. Correct?"

She glares at him, before darting her eyes across the room. She had had her comm when she came but now, like her uniform, she could not locate it. Hux grins and takes a step back, reaching into the pocket of his coat that he left on a chair.

"Do not worry. I will keep this safe."

"So I am simply going to stay here all day?"

"There are books. And food. And a bed. You need sleep." He begins his final preparations for leaving, slipping on his boots, then his coat.

The deep furrow in her brow lessens a bit. "Will you come to see me?"

Hux stops at that, sliding his coat onto his shoulders.

"I am too busy, Kit, to make time for silly dalliances." His tone carries some affront. "You were not brought here to be some kept toy."

On the bed Kit rises to her knees. "Well at least kiss me then, before you go."

Hux crosses the space to her in two strides. He has to bend over to reach her mouth, lips still chapped and dry, but there is a lingering trace of fruit there and he has wanted this. One of her hands tangle in his hair, the other cups his cheek then traces a slow line down his chest. He has to be careful, recounting the injuries that he found on her body in his head, but his grip around her waist tightens a bit and she winces.

"Are you alright?" He demands, nearly pushing himself away from her. She buckles forward, hands on the mattress, but nods.

"Just a bit sensitive is all. Maybe you're right. I do need some rest." She presses a lingering kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you tonight then?"

"Yes," he nods, straightening his collar. He is nearly out the door when he turns back to her, pulling blankets around herself and getting settled into bed. "Maybe I'll come back for lunch?"

She smiles sleepily. "I'd like that."

Hux sees Kit less than two hours later, in full uniform, helping mechanics look into an overheating piece of machinery. She still looks like exhaustion embodied, but her eyes are alert, active, and she is doing more good than harm.

"Do you want me to find the coolant?" She asks. The automatic fan system was no longer working.

"That's a good idea," someone in the group of three responds.

When she walks away Hux still notices the limp in her leg. He also notices the comm device clipped to at her thigh and when he reaches into his pocket he finds it empty.

"I've never been pick pocketed before," he says that night, frowning.

"I have very nimble fingers," she smirks, shoving food into her mouth. She had had two smaller meals during the day and her stomach was still adjusting, but she felt ravenous.

' _Pace yourself_ ,' she reminds herself.

"Slow down," Hux frowns. She glares at him.

"From the man who tried to shove food down my throat this morning?" Kit laughs through a mouthful of slop.

"I don't want you making yourself sick. You shouldn't be moving about, most people sent to reconditioning need at least a day for recovery."

"I don't think it was reconditioning."

Hux stops and looks at her. "What do you mean?"

"I think... There are some people who take physical pleasure in watching people get hurt or hurting other people, or even being harmed themselves. I think it wasn't so much trying to change me as..." she doesn't finish her statement. Hux sees her look at her food in distaste now, appetite gone, and he is angry all over again.

It makes sense, he supposes. It explains why her wounds do not show the systematic process of reconditioning, seeming more like the haphazard actions of a man at play. It is more of a message, he thinks, than a lesson to Kit. And the message, considering that the order was given by his father, was meant for Hux.

"Who carried out the order?" He demands.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Matrius," she forces herself to smile. Hux is beginning to notice that this false display of happiness or assurance is almost instinctual to her, but it does not last. "He did seem rather excited to see me again."

Hux pushes himself out of his seat and turns away from her. "How old were you?"

The question catches her off guard. "The same age that I am now, I think."

"No. No, how old were you?" He looks her in the eyes then, and she understands.

"Oh," she cannot keep his gaze. "I don't know. Twelve. Maybe thirteen."

"You were very young."

"Old enough to bleed. A woman, to some people."

"And did they hurt you?" Kit fixes him with a disbelieving look and he tries again. "For sport, I mean. Like Matrius or..."

She stands, wiping her mouth. "That is none of your concern, General."

"It is."

"No it isn't. It's the past, it's done." She goes to the fresher then, shutting the door behind her so resolutely that he knows he has been dismissed.

They do not talk for days, which was uncomfortable. They were living together, after all.

It takes less than four days for his father to find him again. The man is sitting in his chair, in his office, and this leaves a sour taste in his throat, so soon after leaving the warmth of Kit's arms. Though throughout the day she is distant and cold, at night she still curls against him, still lets him hold her close. He finds himself lingering in bed a little longer each morning, waiting until she wakes and pulls herself away.

The old man clears his throat, reclaiming Hux's attention. "The Academy is excelling. Apparently the reforms you made there have had an enduring impact."

Hux remembers his youth in the Academy. It had not been the well-constructed institution that it had been in the time of the Emperor and Darth Vader. It was instead small, scattered groups of the remaining commanders trying to scrape an adequate following in the youth. The first three years, from twelve years of age to around fifteen, are unimportant. The remaining years are when he came into himself, distinguished himself as an individual. For a time he even took an active part in the organization and training of the junior cadets. During his final year he had actually managed to quell a minor cadet revolt. That was before he began his travels with his father, following him in his exploits because nearly everyone was certain that he would follow him into the marines.

"The Administration wants you to be present for the Graduation of the new cadets."

"I have business to attend to Commandant. We are still searching for the mole's outside connection."

"It will only take a few days. I think a break will be good for you." His stance is relaxed, despite the fact that his posture is perfectly erect. "You will get first pick at the new recruits."

"I do not have the time," he repeats, frowning.

"I expect you there in three days' time," without another word the man stands up and walks out the door.

"What are you saying… precisely?" Hux demands later, watching Kit unlacing her boots.

"I think I was speaking rather plainly," she responds, looking up at him. It is the first real conversation they've had in days. "I can't come with you."

"And why not?"

"Because I'm needed here, with the captain."

"There was no issue when you accompanied me to Arkanis."

"That was at her suggestion. And it was also before we…" She lets that trail off before giving him a pointed look. "It's unprofessional now."

"But sharing my chambers is not?" his voice is sharp, an accusation almost, and Kit bristles despite herself. "Or are you implying that because you lie on your back for me you cannot assist me in some way?"

She glares at him then, jaw set in frustration. "You arranged for me to stay here. Remember?"

"Are you complaining?"

Kit steps over to him, leaning against his desk, and sits in his chair. "What is wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're being odd. What's wrong with you?"

Something flashes in his eyes and, in a movement that seems more like an involuntary jerk, he is moving away from her. "Nothing is wrong. Tomorrow a transport will be leaving the base at precisely 1300 hours. I expect that you will be on it when I am ready to leave."

"And if I'm not."

"Then I will find you and I will drag you onto it." His hand is at his collar, pulling apart buttons and glaring at her. "I will not leave without you."

They do not speak much that night, and what manages to slip out between them in clipped and brief. She almost tries her hand the next day, almost refuses to leave with him, but in the morning Phasma tells her that her services are not needed that day. There is a ham handed comment about, perhaps, the general needing help on his trip.

' _So she's on his side?_ ' she frowns, dragging a small bag to Hux's transport. She expects that he will look smug when she walks to the ship, but he is distracted. Moving around the small quarters with agitation in his shoulders. When he finally sits she comes behind him and rubs her hands into his shoulders, concerned. She wants to ask him again why he's acting strange, what's bothering him, but she remembers what happened the last time. And she doesn't trust him enough to try that again. So instead Kit is quiet, folding the muscles of his shoulders and neck in her fingers and bending forward to press her lips against his cheek.

His head leans back and he groans. Kit despises this, the fact that she's actually become fond of this man. The fact that she is actually concerned about him.

' _This is weakness_.'

"You will stay by my side. Do you understand?"

Her hands still. This is not going to end well. "I don't think that's appropriate."

The set in his jaw lets her know that whatever peace she has managed to lull from him is now gone. "May I ask why?"

She moves her hands to his hair, dragging her nails over his scalp. "I just don't think that it's a good idea to have me trailing after you. It will draw attention to us, to things that aren't….It's… unnecessary."

"Are you embarrassed?"

She looks around. "No. But people are already talking about this, even before you moved me into your room, and now you're taking me to the Academy and everyone is going to see it as some sort of lover's getaway."

"Is that what we are to one another? Lovers?" In response Kit drops her hands and moves away from him. He turns in his chair to look at her. "What made you kiss me?"

She turns away from him, looking to find the sleeping cot. "Why us, Kit?" he demands, following her. Finally Kit turns back to him, annoyed because she does not know where this is coming from and nervous because she does not know where it will go.

"I wanted to feel it without being afraid. Or disgusted or smothered. And you seemed to want the same thing. And that was fine with me."

"So you just wanted me to fuck you. Anyone could have done that and I don't thi-"

"Yes, anyone could have done it. I could have fallen into bed with anyone, it was entirely up to chance. But it was you. So stop overthinking and just be okay with it. You can't be jealous because of something that has not happened."

Kit rolls over then, feigning sleep before drifting off. Sometime later there is a hand pushing against her shoulder and telling her, briskly, that it is time to wake up.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Its been a while. Which is saying something because its been even longer for Ties to Yesterday. I suck at continuous writing.**

 **Hope there arent too many mistakes.**

Kit ends up following Hux for nearly the entire day, through meetings and exaltations of his character. It begins with the large party present outside the transport, waiting to greet him when he lands. The group stands at attention when he approaches in long quick strides, shake his hand enthusiastically when offered. She watches them watch his face, their eyes looking for any indication of approval. The slightest downturn of his lips makes them look nervous. He never smiles, but the nod he occasionally bestows seems to give most of them a small victory.

Kit, standing a respectful two steps behind her general, is shown the new issue of recruits. They stand in straight lines, formation perfect. The girls and boys stand with their backs erect, prepared to do whatever they are commanded. They are organized in groups of sixty students, she hears that each group is called a century. Kit cannot help but imagine Hux in this line, face softer with youth. There are other students, standing in the front a specific unit. Each wears black, distinguishing them from the students who wear gray. In their hand is a long staff and Kit flinches when a sound slices through the air, the lightening quick strike to a young man's knee to correct him. The boy buckles sharply but quickly recovers, correcting whatever offense had earned him the punishment.

"They still follow your example, General Hux," one man remarks, this one wearing black as well, though his uniform is heavily decorated and he is too old to be a student. He must be in administration. "The frequent blood games keep them on their guard. Keep them from getting ideas."

Hux's gaze flickers to her for an instant, but he quickly looks forward. Her brow furrows, she wants to ask him what this is and if it's as horrible as it sounds. He nods. "A certain level of comradery is expected of course. Too much poses a problem."

The image of Hux, stiff and awaiting the solid blow from the staff is replaced by him wielding the instrument of pain and fear. His face is twisted into a disgusted scowl, he looks more like the man she recognized in her early days on board the Finalizer. In front of him is the blood games, groups of young men and women trying their best to kill each other to survive.

The thought chills her blood and she steps away from him, lingering in front of the students that look less like soldiers now and more like animals on display. She can see the men looking at their attributes, their physical forms and their abilities. Kit turns away from them, suddenly feeling ill with memories, and rushes to catch up with the rest of the group.

Of course she was aware of the other Hux, the Commandant, who was also present throughout the day's proceedings. She had only seen him briefly during the reconditioning, but she recognized him from the portrait in the Arkanis study. Today she's only been on the fringes of any interactions, watching as Hux was shown the new recruits and new facilities, there was enough going on around her that she did not feel the strain of the Commandant's scrutiny.

When he slid beside her in the ballroom it took all of her effort not to move away. Kit's eyes were glued then to Hux dancing with a girl that she recognized from those who visited him on Arkanis. Her hair was pinned, black curls caught in a net near the base of her neck. The color contrasted starkly with the pale pink fabric of her dress. One of her hands, which had probably never known a day's work, lay daintily on his shoulder. The other he held in his own massive grip, while his other hand rested on the small of her back. Their proximity, this contact- it was vaguely intimate. Her lips had been painted a deep red, eyes lined with black to bring out the bright blue. Tall, stately, lovely posture and slender form, she was a beautiful young woman. And Kit was forced to bite a bullet she really wasn't familiar with. Jealousy.

 _I was just a convenience for him_ , she thinks, wrapping her arms around her middle and watching as the girl hung about him and gazed up at his face with a stupid simpering look that she probably thought was charming. This was the kind of woman that men like Hux married. Kit was the kind of girl that men like Hux enjoyed dalliances with until they grew bored and she became ugly.

"She would make a great match for him, wouldn't she?" This is the Commandant's taunt, a clipped accent that would resemble Hux's if the voice wasn't so rough. Kit breaths deeply to loosen her face muscles, which in an attempt at controlling her expression she realized had been steadily tightening. "Her father is in the steel industry, his work is essential for our equipment."

"Yes sir," Kit responds blankly, making a point of looking at a red fountain situated somewhere near the refreshments. Probably some form of drink. Looks like a river of blood. There is food present, rich meats and heavy desserts that she can smell. It makes her mouth water, but then nausea stirs.

"I'm actually rather disappointed. Seeing you here. Much more subdued that I remember. I suppose he has you well trained then?"

"Yes sir."

"You don't look like his mother," that comment grabs her attention, though she manages to keep it from showing in her face. "I was expecting you to, that would explain this idiotic behavior. This… sentiment."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

The Commandant glares at her, gripping her shoulder to force her to look at him. If anyone else in the room notices this sudden act, none give any indication. Kit feels her feet slide a part, a stance to make sure if he strikes her she will keep her balance, but he makes no other move to touch her.

"You can stop with the act now, _whore_. I know all about you and my son. Nothing will come of it. He is not your savoir. There will be no more bastards born to this family, no children of whores. He will marry a proper woman, he will cast you aside, and if I am feeling generous perhaps I will not have you disappear." There is one leering look at her body, at the ample the uniform does so well covering. "Perhaps I will give you a try myself."

Her voice is a little shakier than she would have liked it to be. "Good day sir." Kit removes herself from his side, taking measured steps between moving forms to the balcony.

She hears Hux's, her Hux's, footsteps before long, and she wants to tell him to go away but finds that she cannot speak.

"Are you alright?"

The words are tight in her throat, but she manages to force them out. "Fine."

He is still behind her, she cannot see his face and he cannot see hers. The night is surprisingly cool, given the arid heat that had been present that day. The terrain is primarily rocky, one that she does not recognize, with very little in the way of greenery. It is pretty enough, at night. In the moonlight.

"What did he say to you?"

 _So you noticed, in her arms._ "Nothing. Just pointing out your many achievements and merits." She turns to him, smiles, and knows that he knows it to be false. "You should go back in. Your partner probably misses you."

He raises an eyebrow at her and she wants to run away from him, covering her face because she knows exactly how stupid and petulant she must sound. "My partner?"

"You both dance rather nicely. I didn't know you were so light on your feet."

"It's easy," he gestures for her with both hands to come forward. "Come. I'll show you."

"I'd rather not," she frowns, stepping away from him.

Concern and annoyance flood his features. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Did he threaten you?"

She laughs at that. "Oh. Oh, did you think that taking me with you would keep your father from targeting me again? Just like you thought that moving me into your room would stop him," she shakes her head, in absolute awe of how dense this brilliant man is. It's almost charming. "You've waved me before him like a chew toy Hux. You've made it seem as if I actually mean something to you and now I need to be removed."

Hux glares at the skyline for a moment and she takes advantage of the moment to push past him. "I assume that a room has been prepared for me."

"Yes. You will be sharing mine."

"Not tonight."

The room prepared for Kit is small and cramped and moist. She lays in her uniform, knowing that tomorrow it will be wrinkled in the morning. She tosses and turns on the small pallet until an uneasy sleep finds her.

The next day she is too tired to care about Hux's annoyed expression when everyone convenes for the morning meal. It is not as decadent of a meal as the night before, but Kit finds that she still has no appetite. She sits at the end of the table, as far away from the General and his father as she can. People talk around her, no one tries to talk to her. She finds she misses Mitaka, he was at least good for conversation. These are not her people.

Throughout the meal she can sense Hux's sharp eye on her. He is probably angry that she hadn't come to his room last night. He is probably angry she isn't eating. He is probably angry that she ended their last conversation so abruptly. He is probably angry about a lot of things, things that have accumulated over their time together.

The sweet voice of Lady Wenra sings through the air and Kit decides she doesn't care. She sips on water to cover up the taste of bile that lingers in her mouth.

Following the meal, several men and women stand before the General and present their proposals to him, the projected growth in performance they expect. Kit takes notes of these things on her datapad, watches Hux as he sits with his hands folded on the table, back ramrod straight and expression giving nothing away. Following this several of the administrators present their best students for him to survey. And following this the party is led from the conference room, down long grey corridors, and into an open atrium. In the very center there is a large, grey statue of a man that it takes her a long time to recognize. It's Hux, his features exaggerated in stone. They've given too much to his shoulders and his muscles, his build closer to that of Kylo Ren. They've also tried to give him a more heroic jaw, a loftier brow. The effect is, in her opinion, unflattering. Untrue. His posture is correct at least, straight spine, feet slightly a part. The arrogant tilt of his jaw is something she recognizes, but has not necessarily associated with him for some time.

One hand is in a fist. The other rests on the shoulder of a smaller statue, a young boy. While other people crowd around the structure, Kit lingers in the back to stare at it in its entirety. The young boy confuses her. He is a small child, thin and short and hunched over. His hair is scruffy, uniform mussed. The etches in the stone tell her that the boy's face in contorted in pain. He is crying.

His eyes are wide. The nose is long and straight. Though the cheeks are shaped roundly, softening it, the cheekbones are prominent.

Somehow, after staring at this boy, Kit realizes that she is staring at Hux as a child.

The realization forms something harsh and twisted in her gut and her eyes immediately find him. If she was stupid, she might rush to his side and grab his hand. She might have touched hand to the side of his face and forced him to look in her eyes, asking him if he was ok.

Instead, Kit keeps her distance and watches. She watches his eyes, which flicker to the face of every person as if seeking out who was responsible for this. He stares at the depiction of his present self, as if offended by the changes they have made. This is his legacy and it's barely recognizable as him.

He avoids the younger version of himself, but should his gaze accidentally fall upon him, Kit can see his jaw clench in poorly held restraint.

 _He's remembering_ , she thinks. This is not how she imagined him, in his youth. This is not how she wanted to see him.

Oblivious, one man stands at his side and begins to speak. "You embody so much of the First Order, General. When you stepped through those doors you were nothing but a sniveling brat. Now look at where you are, what you've accomplished. All because you fought. You did not succumb under the pressure, you rose to the top."

His fist clench. "Tell your artist they did an excellent job."

The attention to detail is remarkable, Kit supposes, but she knows that if Hux was given the opportunity, he would send the thing crashing to the ground.

At the banquet that night Kit sneaks off and finds her way into the Head Master's office. Nearly everyone is distracted by the festivities, it is not hard for her to make her way into his locked room without causing alarm. Only one person notices her departure and it is the Commandant. When she walks past his table a hand snatches out and grabs her wrist. She pauses, feels the oversized paw squeeze down. When she casts a glance around the room this time, Hux's attention has been pulled from whatever conversation had kept him occupied. Now his eyes rest, not so discreetly, on her. He sits across the table, close enough to see but not close enough to react.

"Where are you off to?" The Commandant demands. His voice is almost relaxed.

"The fresher, Commandant Hux."

"Did you asked to be dismissed?"

She cuts her eyes at him for a brief moment, lips clenched. "Permission to leave, Commandant Hux."

"Permission granted."

The halls to the offices were much easier to navigate, nearly empty. When she finds his personal processor on his desk and when her fingers ghost over the buttons, she finds herself wishing she had paid more attention to Mitaka's computer work. It isn't until she sits in the chair that she notices a small pad, designed for someone's finger print.

"This is entirely too simple," she almost smirks. Trying to sort through other people's work is difficult, she doesn't know the Head Master's method of organizing or how to work his system. She is, however, lucky enough that he recently opened what she was looking for. Hux's file. Working quickly, Kit moves pages onto her own datapad and is only just unplugging it from the processor when she hears footsteps approaching. Pressing a button she turns off the machine and stands in front of the desk at attention. When the footsteps pass the door she feels her shoulders drop in relief. She hadn't yet thought of an excuse. She creeps out of the room, locking the door before closing it behind her.

In the privacy of her own quarters she begins to pore through the files. On the first page is an image of him, his age. He looks young, he is a child no more than thirteen, but the rendition of him at this age on the statue is more accurate. His eyes are wide, his expression is sickly. His marks are low, he is described as a waste. One of his teachers remark that it is only to be expected from a bastard.

Things change when he is fifteen years of age. There is an incident, ending in the death of another student and Hux in the medbay with a stab wound to his abdomen. Following this his scores in class, both academic and physical, rise until he is the top of his class, accumulating in the last year of his time there, when he became leader of one of the centuries. During his time in charge there was a revolt, students under his command and in other centuries banding together to overthrow the abusive authority.

The revolt ended in 20 student's deaths, each public.

Kit goes his room, finds him awake. He turns to look at her, expression relieved when he sees who is filling the doorway.

"Where have you been?" He demands, standing up to approach her.

She pushes herself against him, reaching for the hem of his shirt and yanking it up. There is a white line on his already pale skin, the remnants of an old wound. She traces her fingers over the raised skin.

"You left the reception hall. I haven't seen you-"

Kit turns her face up and silences him with a kiss. She has questions, so many questions, and things she wants to say, but right now she wants him. If she's right, he wants her. It's been a while, a good amount of time since he really touched her and she knows that she was a comfort to him after particularly stressful work days.

This has been a day.

As if sensing that something is not right he grabs her by her shoulders and pushes her away.

"Are you alright? Has my father- has he said anything?"

"No. No, I'm fine. This place- it's just terrible. Are you- are you ok?" She asked, looking up at him.

Hux pulls away from her. "What are you talking about?"

She hesitates, grabbing his hands. "The statue… it was-"

He scowls. "It was nothing."

"You were very young."

"It's nothing."

"And you were crying."

"I was a child!" He jerks away from her, turning away. With his eyes, sharp and green and intent on her face, no longer visible she feels bolder.

"Was it before you killed him?"

He spins around. His shoulders are hunched and there is a somewhat manic edge to his eyes. "What did you just say?"

Kit swallows hard. "You were fifteen years old. You killed another student. You got that scar."

Hux steps before her again and she almost flinches. His fingers clutch at hers, holding them in his own. "I killed him because he stabbed me. Because he would've killed me."

She does flinch at the thought, closes her eyes and brings her hand back to the scar. "What happened before? Why would he-"

"Because I was runt and no one would care. I was a liability for the team."

She brings her hand up to his face and pulls him close. She wants him close again, the realization a little sickening, considering that she knows who he is now. Has evidence of what he can and will do to survive.

' _You were bred to be terrible_ ,' she thinks, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I know that you are afraid of my father." His fingers thread in her hair, jerking her head back to force her to meet his gaze. "He will not touch you again. Not him, nor anyone else. Not by my side." He takes a step forward and she takes a step back, finding herself bracketed by his hips and the desk. "And you are by my side. No one else. Certainly not the Imbecilic Whore I was just forced to dance with."

She covers his hand with her own. "I don't like it here."

"Neither do I. It's a pitiful place."

"And I am not particularly fond of your father."

"Don't be so polite. I hate the man."

She looks up at him in mild shock. There had been some obvious tension between father and son, she noticed that very quickly. But she did not expect such loathing, such earnest, honest animosity.

' _Hux is the bastard son_ ,' she remembers. ' _And he has probably never been allowed to forget it_.'

"In the Market one of the guards wanted us to call him daddy," Kit leans against his desk, face blank. "He would offer the girls things, candy, books, in exchange for their … services." Her fingers lace together and she touches on a memory that she has tried to avoid. "The man I called father was shot in the head by barbarians while I hid in the closet."

Hux jerked his head to look at her, surprised by both remarks. By both admissions into her past.

"My mother was stabbed. She was supposed to run with me but she stayed, told me to hide, and tried to help my father."

"My mother killed herself with a poison," he responds, suddenly finding the backs of his fingers interesting. "She preferred death to a life with my father."

There is a long silence that follows. Kit wants to say something, something to comfort him. She wants him to put his arms around her, to hold her close. Instead she tries to sate her curiosity, moving away from him. "What are the blood games?" she asks, bending over to remove her boots.

"No."

She looks up at him and frowns. "What?"

"I don't want to talk about that. Not with you."

"Why not?"

He looks down at her and Kit is forced to realize why. He is afraid. Afraid that she will see him differently, if she knew about all the terrible things that he had done. And she can understand that fear. She has felt it herself many times before.

"We both have pasts, Hux," she says, moving to place her arms around his waist.

Finally Hux, without looking at her says, "I will not ask about it again." This is a lie.

She meets his gaze. "Good."

The next day his father is ill. Hux visits him in the medbay, sees him in a comatose state and linked to machines, monitored by droids. He sits beside him for a time, not saying anything or offering a touch, and Kit stands at his back.

That night in his chambers he forces himself against her, all desperate hands and gasping lips, but she is distracted and simply allows her body to be bent to his will. She is not an active participant, he knows this, and quickly backs off.

"What is it?" he demands, kneeling on the floor after removing her trousers. "What is wrong?"

"Do you want to talk about it," she asks, hesitantly.

"About what?" He asks, genuinely confused. His fingers trace between her legs.

Kit arches into the touch, the faint brush of lips, but jerks away when she knows what he's going to do. "It's okay to be upset Hux. He is your father and-"

"I don't want to talk about him right now," he snaps. "And its Armitage from now on."

"That's a mouthful," Kit complains, halfheartedly, as the general yanks down her undergarments and jerks her forward by her hips. She is still concerned, but Hux- Armitage, seems to refuse to acknowledge this.

"I know. But remember it darling." A devious grin forms on his full lips, one that almost seems charming. Kit reaches hesitant fingertips to his mouth. "Shall we practice it?"

It is a relief when they are back on the Finalizer. They have seem to come to an agreement, about their past and about certain sentiments that he will hide from her, behind a wall. She starts to kiss him at random times. On the cheek when she passes him in their chambers. On the mouth when she leaves or after she showers. He learns early on that she does not expect more, though sometimes it is an invitation. A way of voicing her desire. One night she bent forward after being relieved of duty, pressing her lips fondly against his. However, when he moves to press his fingers into her she pushes him away, frowning.

"Not tonight."

He doesn't press the matter, but later he follows her into the shower. He doesn't think it will be a problem, it is not new for them to bath together. She turns her back to him (she almost always does, but he can still see her) and he sees, between her legs, a slow stream of red.

"Kit?" He demands, dropping to his knees and turning her to face him. "What is this? Have you been to the medbay?" Her wounds from reconditioning were healed, but this was perhaps an indicator of internal damage.

"Hux, Hux stand up," she said, grabbing his shoulders. "I'm fine, really." He looks up at her but does not stand. "It's woman's blood Hux."

He frowns. "Woman's blood?" There is a faint recollection of physiology classes. Enough to remember that women of childbearing age bleed once a month. This is a good sign. It means that for all his carelessness, none of his seed has taken root.

"Yes. I'm fine. Please stand."

He does, moving away from her. She doesn't meet his gaze and he can tell from her face that she is embarrassed. "You should get a shot. In the medbay. Many women do it for convenience. It suppresses... that."

"Tomorrow then," she responds, turning away.

He stands awkwardly behind her. Awkwardly because there are two things inside of him conflicting. The fear of impregnating her and the wanting to have her again. When they finish washing off he follows her back onto the chamber, finally garnering the courage to say it.

"There are other things that we... could do. If you want."

She turns and glares at him, towel still around her form. "What are you talking about?"

Hux pulls back and places two fingers on her lips. He has never been a hesitant man, never shied away from asking (demanding) what he wanted. But he cannot ask for this. Not with words.

Realization dawns. "You want me to..." he nods.

Kit thinks. And an uncomfortable amount of time later she is pushing him onto the bed. He stays sitting up until she places a hand on his chest and applies a small amount of pressure. "Lie down." He does as he is bid and she crawls over him, damp hair falling to the side and dripping onto the bed.

He is already stiff, she notices, and she naws on her lower lip.

Hux reads hesitancy in her features and is more than a little surprised. He had assumed... "You've never done this before?"

The scorching glare she gives him almost kills the desire but she doesn't respond. Merely takes him into her hand and gives a sharp tug to the tender flesh. He winces, she is almost rough, but eventually allows his head to tilt back, his body focusing on the rhythmic motions of her hand.

The soft flick of a tongue on his skin has him jerking up, suddenly more alert. She pulls back, giving a warning look, before licking again. A moment later she is moving to take him into her mouth and Hux can feel her tentativeness, her inexperience. He groans, feels her hands come up to his hips as he laces fingers in her hair. When his grip becomes too tight, when he seems to be moving too quickly, she pinches the skin of his thigh. The first time he looks miffed, but she meets him with an unblinking gaze that offers no misinterpretations. She will go at her own pace or she won't do it at all.

 _This isn't terrible_ , Kit thinks. She really has never done this before. Her former owner had been young, inexperienced, and didn't last long enough for experimentation. One of his friends had once tried to take her from behind, finding a part of her that she knows was not meant for sex. This was the first time she ever hit one of them and the end result that night was not being used, but a beating. She preferred the latter.

Hux makes some comment about her teeth and she pulls away, finishing him in her hand. She stands and leaves his side to wash his mess from her fingers. When she returns, it is with a washrag for his stomach and he fixes her with wary eyes.

"I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant, Hux," she leans over him again and kisses him on the mouth. "Just… think before you speak."

When she pulls away he leans forward, both hands on her hips. "Later. Later I'll return the favor."

One night he kisses her, odd satisfaction from an unknown source filling his features. He doesn't try to bed her that night, there is work to be done. When she comes behinds him, arms around his neck, he brings his fingers to her hair.

There is a map on his data pad, large and expansive, with various locations circled.

"How do you feel about snow?"

"I've never seen it," she responds.

"Do you want to?"

"I suppose." Kit has read descriptions of snowy mountain tops. She thinks it must be very pretty, but she feigns disinterest. He, however, can see her eyes intent on the screen. And he smirks at her transparency.

He crosses off one circle in the far north. "Then you will."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Terrible chapter, but at least its long. Probably super fluffy, but they're about to have a tough time again.**

Tantooine is a desert land with frequent sand storms and blistering heat. At certain times of the year, the positioning of the planet means that the days are especially long, bracketed by two suns. Kit hates this.

Tantooine also has a vibrant market. Kit likes this, goes here and finds little trinkets. He doesn't know if she's stealing or not, but one day she returns with a large bruise blooming on her cheek and no explanation.

"It was just a little brawl, Tidge. I've had worse."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

She returns with red skin and covered in sand. At night she has to rub lotion into the peeling skin and takes cool showers to relieve the burn. Hux looks annoyed each time. She bundles herself in light layers of fabric to protect her skin in the heat while he tries to think of small tasks she can perform to make her stay aboard the Finalizer. She refuses.

"There are people out there who would kill you. Or worse." His mind flits to the band of Tusken Raiders, known for their brutality. He has only seen them once or twice in his life and with their faces bound and bodies covered, a language consisting of grunting noises and screeches, he doubts that they are human.

"It's fine. I mean, everyone there wants to lie or cheat me, but I can defend myself," Kit responds. "Besides, there's patrols in the market place."

"They're incompetent," he sneers.

"I have to go out again tomorrow. The Jawa's are bringing in scraps from the outskirts. If I go out there, I'll have to deal with the Sand People."

"What do you need scraps for?" He demands, incredulously.

"I like junk Tidge. Little things, don't judge me. I'll take a stunner. I can defend myself."

And she can. Hux is right, there are people here that would do her harm. There have always been people like that.

"You should come out with me," she jokes, throwing her arms around his neck from behind. "We can watch the sun set in the north, then rise again five minutes later in the west. It makes a lovely ruby color in the sky, only happens for a brief time every few years."

"I'd burn," he deadpans, forcing a laugh from her throat. The sound, her grip tightening, stirs something warm in his stomach.

"I'd let you borrow my veil."

"No."

The trip to Tantooine, she quickly realizes, was not a random decision. There is an informant there who may have information on the piece a machinery their traitor left behind.

Kit is present when Phasma and Hux meet on the matter. She barely pays attention, only hears the name Ando Gorma and says "Oh, Kessel then."

Hux turns to silence her with a look, but Phasma already heard. "You know of him?"

"Our paths crossed a few times. I didn't know that he had interests outside the spice trade."

"He aids the Resistance?"

"I doubt it's personal. More of a highest bidder kind of thing."

Phasma asks the question that Hux has been dreading. "Would he talk to you?"

"No. The man is paranoid. But he may know some men. Men who would talk to Mouse."

Kessel is a hideous place. The sprawling structures are not unlike those on Kessel, but are far less sound. Nearly each building looks as if it's on the brink of collapse, with caving walls and sunken roofs, and there seems to be a layer of grime on every surface. The streets are crowded and when Hux briefly walks through the streets, he sees that there are beggars and shift creatures on every corner, in every alley. He quickly returns to the base and regrets his decision.

Kit is gone for three days. In the first hour she loses the tail that Hux sent to watch her, leaving him to spend three days pacing the floor and pulling at his hair and wondering if she was alive. When she returns her disguise is dirty (dirtier) there are scrapes and bruises on her skin, but she has a man. And from that man Kylo Ren gets a name.

"Mandalore."

Kylo Ren finds her later in one of the lockers, the heavy fall of his footsteps marking his arrival. She is looking in the mirror, removing the cloth and gauze wrappings around her head. He comes up from behind, turns her to face him and roughly tugs the last strips away with invisible hands.

He is a large man, she thinks, and the costume he wears only draws attention to broad shoulders and long legs. He is crowding her space, a method Hux often employs. Apparently the First Order teaches all their men the same haphazard method of seduction.

One hand clumsily finds her breast and she laughs.

"What is so funny?" He demands, voice covered in static.

"I've just been wondering," she starts, noticing that his hand has not moved. "How did the spy slip through your cracks?"

"People can make walls. Or misdirect their thoughts." He presses against her more, other hand pushing between her legs. Through many layers of fabric she can feel the random motions of his gloved fingers. "I didn't come to talk."

"No. But you didn't come for this either," Kit pushes against him, pushes him away. "You can try if you want."

She can feel him in her head again, already trying to break through the barrier of her mind. There is an involuntary grin on her face. "You can't get in, can you?"

In frustration he throws her against a wall. She can feel him banging inside her head and thinks, very loudly, _'stop it_.' And from the way he pauses she can see that he heard her.

"There. You heard me," she grits, picking herself up off the ground. "Are we done here?"

The masked face regards her for a moment, shoulders heaving slightly. She knows that he is not tired, he is angry but trying to maintain control. He stands while she remains crouched on the floor, prepared to lose. She is only a little surprised when he walks away, and not surprised at all when she hears word of his latest temper tantrum less than an hour later.

Hux makes a point of pretending that he has not been waiting for her return. He barely looks up from his data pad when she enters, barely says a word, but he quickly realizes that she will not come begging for his attention.

"We said you would have a day," he frowns. "A day to search Kessel for information."

"And I said that I needed a week. So technically I am ahead of schedule."

He sighs, turning his chair to look at her. She is still dressed her ruffian's clothes, her hair in plaits. Sitting on the floor, she digs through a roughly crafted traveler's sack. "You left your escort."

"You mean your watcher?" She laughs. "Someone would have noticed him. He would've gotten me killed."

"I had no idea where you were. If you were alive or-"

"I got you a present," Kit interrupts, dropping something on his desk. It is a paper book, old and worn, and when he opens it he finds poems. "I like his work."

Hux looks up to find her seated in front of the couch, putting an array of treasures on the floor. "You wasted money on that junk?"

The look she gives him is affronted. "It's not junk. And no, I did not waste money on them. I stole them."

He puts down the book and goes to her side, awkwardly kneeling on the floor. "You are a thief?"

"Petty thief. It's not a career. It's different," there is a metal box in her hand, rusted and corroded over false silver finish. "And this doesn't even count. He stole it from me."

"Really?"

"Yes. Janir. He wasn't a big deal back in the day, but I suppose he rose to some level now. Transportation of goods." She scraps rust off of the corner. "He isn't even taking care of it."

"Where did you get it?" Hux asks. "Before it was stolen from you, I mean?

"Oh, I stole it from a street vender." She opens it and shows him the inside. "There's a false bottom. For hiding spice."

Kessel is known for being the main spice port of the world. The addictive substance has made it both a bustling economic center and a poverty stricken population. Hux looks at her, at her face.

"Have you managed to acquire any injuries that I should be aware of?"

"Only scrapped knees. Nothing to worry about."

"The bruise?"

"Just a little brawl. I'm fine."

Hux leans forward and kisses her. She grins at the contact, reaching up to curl fingers in his hair. When his hand goes to her breast she sighs and pushes him away.

"Not now Hux. I'm dirty."

"Yes," he mumbles between kisses, "you are." One hand cups the back of her head to keep her in place, the other slides down to cup her through tattered pants. "You smell."

"I know," she replies, annoyed. Her disguise is smearing stains on his shirt as he presses against her, then his trousers when he pulls her into his lap.

Hux leans back and has to look up to look her in the eyes. "This suits you," he mutters, toying with one of her torn shirts.

"Rags and dirt?" His fingers move inside of her pants, stroking tender flesh.

"Maybe." He turns his face up to kiss her, one hand removing layer after layer until her breasts were bare and he could press his mouth to her. She did smell, smelled of sweat and heat and it was oddly arousing.

"Hux," she breathed out, a little whiny at the end. He took both hands and placed them on her hips, moving her to his rhythm.

"Tell me about Kessel," he grunts, playing at distraction.

"Terrible place," she moans, gripping his hair again. One of her hands opens the buttons of his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest.

"Productive? I mean other than the - oh- stealing of course."

"You don't care," She replied, laughing a bit, giving him a sharp tug on his hair.

"I'm listening."

"After," she moves back to push off her trousers, he opens his own pants to free himself. Kit returns to him, bracketing his narrow hips with her thighs and kissing his mouth. He moves against her, hips pushing upwards just to watch her twitch against him in anticipation. When she finally moves over him, allows him to slide inside of her, there is a low, keening noise from her that nearly drowns out his groan.

Kit moves on top of him in a rhythm that is far slower than he would have set, almost leisurely. From his place on the floor, his shirt the only thing protecting his back from the cool, hard surface, he can watch her. Watch her motions stutter, legs tight and back arching, when she finds sensitive spots within herself. Watch her eyes flutter shut, mouth fall open to release soft sounds of pleasure. When her rhythm falters he grips her hip, pulling himself up to sit. She gasps at the change of position, at the change of angle, and he tugs her closer, hand on her thigh to guide her, the other cupping her breast.

"Hux," she cries out, burying her face into his neck, and he kisses her warmly, opening her mouth with his tongue and swallowing the sounds she makes. He jerks himself up more firmly, harsher, and feels her release as her fingers tighten in his neck and his arm. With a heady groan he follows not long after.

She collapses into him, panting hot breath onto his chest. There is a new scent about her now, a mixture of them both, and Hux buries his face in her neck and inhales.

"Don't," she laughs. "I'm dirty, remember?"

"Obviously I don't mind."

She presses a kiss to his chest, tasting the sweat there. When her stomach growls Hux moves to push her away.

"You need food."

"I need to shower," she replies. "I can't eat when I can smell myself."

"Well now I smell as bad as you, so I suppose that I'll have to join you."

"I'm beginning to think that you have doubts as to whether or not I can wash properly."

"You have yet to show me evidence proving otherwise."

He waits until after she is satisfied and clean, until after she removes herself from the shower to wrap his arms around her and carry her back to his bed.

They don't do this every night. There are stretches of days when all that passes between them is tight embraces and warm kisses. But when it does happen, when she does find the General pulling her in this dance, he is almost always this way. Wanting and taking whatever he can get.

She takes a small meal. He sits on the bed beside her, trying to get her to eat more than just pieces of fruits. Kit glares at him when he places more food in her bowl and fights the urge to sleep.

"Did anything happen while I was gone? Anything interesting?"

"Everything went as usual. We survived."

"I bet Mitaka missed me." Hux gives her a withering look and she laughs, a sharp loud sound. "Well, did you?"

"Did I what?" he responds, deliberately being obtuse.

"Did you miss me?"

She is baiting him, not staring at him with pressuring or simpering eyes. She wants to know. Hux feels slightly uncomfortable under her earnest gaze and clears his throat. "I noticed that you were gone."

She laughs again, gentler this time. With one hand she pushes fruit between her lips, the other hand steadies her when she leans forward to kiss his cheek. She pulls away to meet his gaze. "I missed you."

Kit places the bowl on the nightstand and pushes herself beneath the blankets. "I missed this bed," she sighs in satisfaction, wiggling around on the sheets. Her eyes are barely slits now, and there is a content smile on her lips.

Hux is glad that she's here. He's glad that she's in his bed again, that he can wake up to her and return to her. It makes his rooms feel like… home again.

He will never say this to her.

"Well what about you? Tell me about the streets of Kessel."

"Smelly, smoggy, and very very rude."

"Did you run into familiar faces?"

"Well, I told you about Janir. And then there was another kid who owed me money. Then there was another kid I owed money. One man who had a score to settle. One girl who still wanted to marry me, she kept saying the baby is mine. It was a lot going on."

"Where did you sleep? How did you eat?"

"Food was easy. The street merchants kept me fed. Sleep, well, sleep was harder. Its why," she gives him a pointed look, "I'm tired now."

He bends over and presses a kiss to her shoulder. "I'll leave you alone."

One hand settles on his back. She opens her arms and smiles at him. "You could stay here. I don't mind talking."

Hux settles into bed beside her and waits for her to fall asleep. She is still damp, hair soaking the pillows, and when he leaves he puts another blanket on the bed to fend off the chill. He goes to the Bridge for a time, there are things to discuss regarding the information Kylo had just found.

On his datapad, Hux receives a transmission request from one of the overseers of his confidential project. He checks on the controls and activities of his crew one more time before going to the privacy of his office. The overseer says his presence is needed to check in on progress and approve of some changes in the plans, changes that may help speed up construction.

"I have to go there?" He asks, tapping his fingers on the side of his desk.

"Yes Sir. Alone. We will provide a secure transport for you. The entire visit, if everything goes as scheduled, should take only five days."

"Whenever you are ready, send the transport. I will prepare for departure immediately."

"Thank you sir." Both men nod to each other and the connection is severed.

When Hux returns to the room to Kit is awake and putting her items away. They have been cleaned, relatively, and now she's putting them in her storage containers beneath the bed.

"I see you're awake," he begins, somewhat nervously.

"Yup. I had to put my stuff away. Are you sure the ship won't crash and burn without you on the Bridge?"

"Ha ha. Very funny," he sits at the edge of the bed. "I hope I can depend on my crew to keep this thing afloat… I'm leaving tonight."

She pauses in her motions, turns to look at him. "You are?"

She's clarifying. He's going. She is not. He nods.

"Can I ask where?"

"You can, but I cannot tell."

"Confidential?"

"Correct."

"How long?"

"Five days."

"Will it be safe?"

He nods, palms flat on his lap. "Yes."

She nods twice. "Ok. Alright. You leave tonight?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Alright."

He packs a few things, she sits on the bed and watches. When his small case is full, he turns to her and reaches in his pocket. It's a comm device.

"It has a line to me. A _private_ line."

The meaning is clear. She can reach him at any time and what they say to one another, whether it is simply an update about the ship or a her sentiments about missing him, will be secure.

"Thank you. Be careful. I hope all goes well."

He kisses her once more, then departs.

The first night Kit is too tired to care that he is gone.

The first day she is too busy to care that he is gone. She throws herself into her work, following engineers around to help with minor repairs of the ship. Many of them ridicule her for talking to the droids, but most seem to appreciate her help and her steady, nimble fingers. She finds she likes the work, enjoys tinkering with machinery. It feels almost like solving a puzzle.

On one droid, with many ocular fixtures, Kit asked to help fixing the bulbs. Really only one needs to go out disrupt the several lights that mark the droid's range of vision. Usually an engineer, if they want to avoid replacing all of the bulbs, has to individually check each one to find the faulty bulb.

Kit fingers the wires and plucks out the left eye piece, handing it off to the tech to be replaced.

"Are you certain?" the woman asks, searching for a replacement bulb to pass off.

"Yes. I think so anyway. What do you think?" Kit asks the droid, who beeps in agreement. "I think so."

"You're rather good at this. Have you considered enlisting with our deparment?"

Kit only smiles and shakes her head. She like the work, that's true, but she thinks that day in and day out she would get bored.

The second night, Kit is a little less tired. With Hux gone, she adjusts the temperature settings in the room to be slightly warmer. She eats in bed, something that Hux usually frowns about. She pulls a music box from her stash of stolen goods and plays a few songs, dancing on the living room floor and, when she's feeling bold, jumping up and down on the bed.

There is a small amount of trouble falling asleep, but she manages.

The second day Kit rises and cannot shake the feeling that something is different about the room. Little things, an extra blanket on the bed. Not so little things. Her music box playing on Hux's desk. Closets opened and in a disarray. One of Hux's shirts is tucked next to her in bed. She doesn't have time to consider the implications of this, not when she's due at the medbay to assist in trooper checkups. She helps with the minor tests, temperature, heart rate, blood pressure, and takes her lunch with Mitaka. He asks her multiple questions about her time in Kessel, only to retract them immediately.

"Never mind. That must all be confidential."

"I doubt it," she responds through a mouthful of soup. "Most of what happened was just walking through the city."

"Was it dangerous?"

Kit casts a glance around the room and frowns. "Probably no more dangerous than what we do here."

She's lying, but she doesn't really want to get into how it was to live on Kessel for months, not just take a three day vacation in those streets. What life was like for her, how it became routine and familiar, how there was actually an adjustment period when she finally left.

"What are you doing tonight?" He asks, staring intently at his sandwich. This is not a question that Mitaka has asked in a long time, not since…. Not since Arkanis. Not since her interactions with the general began. Now he's asking it when the man is no longer on board the ship.

 _'_ _God, we really weren't discrete, were we?'_

"Probably nothing. Why?"

"We're docking in Mandalore tonight. There's a club there, The Duchess. I've heard they play great music there, if you wanted to try it?" He looks up at her, briefly, before looking away again.

' _Poor boy_.'

"Not tonight," she responds, taking a sip of water. "I'm still resting."

He hesitates. "I wanted help… with Anriel."

She laughs at that, not meanly. She knew that his infatuation with the curvy brunette had not passed, though she thought the passions would have fizzled out by now. It was with relief that Kit realized he did not have intentions towards her. "You want me to be your wingman?"

"Yes," he nods, serious and embarrassed.

"Yes, I'll do it. Just really, not tonight Ok? I'm actually still tired. Sleep was hard on Kessel."

He looks confused about this. "Why?"

"Well it's not exactly comfortable in alley ways or on rooftops. And then there's always either too much noise to sleep or just enough noise for it to be… creepy, I guess would be the best word."

"So, when is a good night for you?"

"Tomorrow night?"

"Not good. I have late duty on the Bridge, data processing."

"Night after that?"

He ponders this, then nods affirmatively. "Should be fine."

"I'll have to find something to wear, I guess." The thought does make her twist a little bit, on the inside. Memories of the night she wore that dress to the Cantina, how ridiculous she felt.

"There are shops on the planet. I'm sure you'll find something nice," another moment of hesitation before finishing his thought. "You're already lovely Kit."

She smiles at him, grateful for the compliment but also grateful for the fact that it came from him. Mitaka had no ulterior motives, this she knew. He was not hoping to make her feel special to take advantage of her later, merely stating something in the hopes of making her happy. Of course he would remember how nervous she had been at the Cantina, it had gotten him shoved against a wall. Maybe he didn't entirely understand the context of her actions, of her emotions, because he was not privy to details of her life. With a few words, he was simply trying to make her feel better. He was a friend, one that she appreciated.

"I'll find something. Don't worry. By the end of the night, Anriel will be yours."

When she returns to her room that night, she is forced to remember the state her room is in. Someone was in here, late at night. Someone came into her room, late at night, without her knowledge. The thought makes her blood run cold, she immediately goes to the processor Hux left on his desk and signs into it. Under his name, she requests the footage from the surveillance cameras of the outside hall.

A moment later she receives the footage.

In that same moment she receives a message from Hux.

'Is everything alright?'

Kit sighs, she should've known that he would also have access to the message. She sent it from his account. She quickly types back 'I'm fine.'

A moment later she receives a transmission request. Huffing, debating, glaring at the screen for all of three seconds, Kit accepts.

"Hi." This should not be awkward, why is this awkward?

"Hi," comes Hux's somewhat deadpanned response.

"How is it… wherever you are? And progress… with whatever you're doing?"

"Fine," he replies briskly, obviously trying to get to the point. "Why have you requested the surveillance for the hallway outside our quarters?"

"No reason. Just curious."

"Kit," he insists.

"It's nothing, really."

"Has something happened in the room? Something that's made you nervous?"

Kit looks over her shoulder at the blanket on the bed, at the open closet, and at the shirt she was nearly cuddling this morning. "I don't think so. It's nothing really, just… I'm probably overreacting."

"What is it?"

Kit naws on her lower lip and glances around one more time. "There was another blanket on the bed when I woke up. Your closet was open and your shirt…"

"What?"

She taps her foot, suddenly embarrassed. "Your shirt was in bed next to me."

Hux's brow furrows at that, he looks somewhat confused. "You think someone broke into the room to make sure that you weren't cold and to give you one of my shirts?"

"Well when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous! But yes, I do think this. I don't remember getting up last night, I don't remember grabbing another blanket, I don't remember turning on my music box, and I certainly don't remember grabbing one of your shirts to cuddle with!"

"You were cuddling it?" he smirks, and it only makes her feel more outraged. She lets out a noise of annoyance, he laughs. She wants him here, if only so she can strangle him. "Kit, you're perfectly safe."

"How do you know?"

"One, the Finalizer is my ship. I know it well, it is a secure vessel. Two, my quarters have the highest security available. No one is simple breaking in. Three, I just finished watching the surveillance of the last few days, since I left. No one has come in but you."

"You're certain."

"Yes."

Kit swallows hard and frowns. She must sound crazy. "I've never walked in my sleep, have I?"

"No. Not when I'm there, at least." He clears his throat, fist against his lips to cover the smile that still covers his lips. "If you'd like, we can leave the transmission open tonight. I can watch over you."

Kit gives him a withering look and shakes her head. "No thank you. I'm feeling much better now, actually."

"You didn't message me yesterday."

"I thought you were busy."

"I was… I still wanted to hear from you."

"Well, you're hearing from me now, I guess."

"You've docked in Mandalore, correct?"

"Yes," Kit rises from her place at his desk and goes to their bed. "It's … beautiful in a way. There's a lot of lights."

"I always thought it was gaudy. Too much going on. Though I do hear they have an excellent theater there. Perhaps when I return…" he doesn't finish this thought, because it cannot go anywhere. He cannot take her out publicly.

"Perhaps when you come back, I can get a holovid. We can watch it together. Do you like comedies?"

"I could watch a comedy."

"Fine. How are things where you are?"

"Cold."

"You like the cold."

"Have you touched the thermostat?"

"Yes. Yes I have. You're not here, are you?"

"Hmm."

"What else?" _keep talking Tidge_. Kit curls into bed and enjoys the familiar sound of his voice.

"The basic infrastructure is already complete. Now the true plans can begin. Are you falling asleep?"

"A little."

"Kit."

"Whaaaat?"

"Why were you sleeping with my shirt?"

Her eyes fly open to glare at him. "I told you that someone broke in."

"Yes, to tuck you in at night, I remember. I don't quite understand-"

"Goodnight Tidge." She hits a button on her datapad and ends the transmissions. Kit lays on her back in an indelicate huff and imagines him smiling in triumph. Then she returns to Hux's desk and begins to watch the surveillance footage at high speed. He was right, the only person to pass through that door since Hux's departure was herself.

Somehow this does not make her feel any better. She take blankets from the bed and wears Hux's shirt. The night's rest is fitful and restless, on the small couch in the sitting area. The next day she wakes up and goes to Phasma's office to ask if she has need of her that day. When the older woman tells her no, she is fine, Kit leaves the base and goes into the city. Mandalore is a highly active area, a buzz of activity that seems almost playful. Kit moves through the city streets and into different shops, looking for a dress for Mitaka's mission.

She receives mixed reception. In the first shop the woman cast one quick glance at her face and immediately decided to ignore her. In the second store the woman offered help, then got distracted by two older women of means. And then, at the third store, Kit found herself pushed into a dressing room with an armful of dresses.

The first was entirely too short and too tight, though she thinks she liked the blue color. The second dress fits well, but the sheer fabric is hideous and feels terrible on her skin. She tries on each one before stepping out of the dressing room and into the expectant reception of the helpful young woman.

"I like this one," she says, holding up a black dress. It flares out interestingly at the skirt, she had twisted and turned in front of the mirror to watch the fabric move with her. She likes this.

Afterwards, to treat herself, Kit buys her first civilian clothes. They are simple things, shirts and trousers and sweaters that would allow her to move through the streets without her uniform.

She sends Hux a few messages before checking the door once more and laying in bed.

He doesn't send any back, and she wonders if she hurt his feelings the night before.

He sends another transmission request. She is already asleep.

The next day is going through the motions until meeting with Mitaka to go to the Duchess. He gives her a surprised look when he sees her dress, smiles when he sees the coloring she's applied to her face. The boldest thing is the red lipstick. It suits her.

"You look dapper," she grins, tucking her arm through his as she walks.

"Do you think we'll turn heads?"

"Or course. Unless the crowd is blind, of course."

The Duchess is very different from the Cantina, much more alive. Kit feels the music on her skin, can hear the vibrations in her ears as she pushed through crowds with one hand on Mitaka's arm. Everyone seems to be in motion, allowing the feeling of sound to move their bodies in fluid and somewhat ridiculous ways. Lights tear through the air, making strange and ethereal effects on people's skin and on the walls. One nearly blinds Kit.

Mitaka pauses somewhere and Kit follows his line of sight to Anriel and Mina. They are dancing with two officers, smiling and occasionally throwing glances at each other. His face falls a little and Kit takes advantage of his distraction to grab his arm, pull him deeper into the crowd, and place his hands on her hip.

"What are you doing?" he demands, nearly moving his hands away, but she grabs his wrists and keeps him there.

"Follow my league," she whispers into his ear, placing her hands on his shoulders and swaying with him.

He looks around nervously, then nods. After a few minutes of this swaying motion, he looks up at her. "It's lead."

"What?"

"You said follow my league. It's lead."

Kit frowns at him, but moves her hands to his neck and pulls him closer. "I don't really care Dopheld. Now laugh loudly, like I've said something funny."

"Do you honestly think that's going to work?"

"You want her to look at us? Laugh."

He does, the booming noise actually startling her. The man knows nothing of subtlety. She sighs a little, but when she looks over her shoulder both Mina and Anriel have started to look at him. Kit pulls him closer, cards fingers through his dark hair. He tries to stand up straighter, to keep space between them.

"Go with it. Are they watching?"

He peeks over her head. "A little."

"We dance a few more minutes, I go to the bathroom, you make your move. Ok?"

He nods, licks his lips and moves a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Kit tries to get a little fancy, moving her hips and shaking her curly hair. Mitaka looks a little uncomfortable, which means she's either dancing well or terribly. When the music changes she leaves the dancefloor, goes to the brightly lit bathroom to look at herself. Her hair is a mess and her lipstick looks a little smudged. Her cheeks are red, flushed from the movement and the mass of bodies in such and enclosed space.

She's surprisingly happy.

Behind her the bathroom door opens and she turns to see Mina filling the threshold. Her hair is in a high, the black strands long and shining down her back. Her lips are painted black and her eyes decorated with dark yellow.

The smile she gives Kit is absolutely predatory.

"Having fun tonight?"

Kit immediately feels her skin crawl with suspicion. She covers her arms and runs her hands over them, suddenly feeling cold.

"Yes. Are you?"

"Hmm," she comes to the mirror and begins to reapply her lipstick. "Mitaka looks great, doesn't he?"

"Oh, yeah. He looks fine. He wanted to come out dancing but not alone, so I said I would join him."

"Is that allowed?"

Kit pauses. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well," she laughs, blotting off excess. "I just thought that there were rules for kept women."

"… Kept women?"

In the mirror, their eyes meet. Kit feels as if she's being challenged.

"I wonder how the General would feel if he knew what you were doing here."

Protect his reputation. "General?"

"Hux, of course. Or was I mistaken?"

"You were. My relationship with General Hux is strictly professional."

"Right. Of course."

Kit leaves her in the bathroom to resist the urge to throw Mina's head into the mirror.

Back on the dancefloor, Dopheld is talking to an uninterested Anriel and Kit wonders when he will learn to give up. She dances with herself, avoids potential partners with firm looks and strong grips removing hands from her body. She tries to forget Mina's not so subtle threats.

One man refuses to take her hints, instead forcing his body against her back and ignoring when she moves away from him. Dopheld is nowhere to be seen, she turns to tell him to go away.

Over his shoulder, somewhere lost in the crowd, Kit sees a shot of red hair and a streak of black fabric. When her visions focuses she sees Hux's face, solemn and annoyed.

If this continues, she doesn't know what he will do. So Kit pushes the mass away from her and quickly leaves the club, leaving the loud music and the pulsing lights for the relative cool of the night air. She turns twice to look for Hux, doesn't see him, and feels concern. She makes it two steps down the street before being yanked into the alley way and pulled into the darkness. Her first thought is to fight, her second, when she register the accented voice, is to stop and pull him close.

Hux's lips smash against hers, angry and a little possessive.

"You came back early," she says when his lips leave hers.

"Is that alright?" he demands, pressing his lips to her neck.

"Yes. Yes, of course. What- why?"

"Progress was going well. I was able to leave." Another kiss on her lips, a sour smile. "Should I go back there and place a blaster hole in that man's head?"

"No! No, it's not that big of a deal."

"You looked unhappy."

"Well, he was touching me. I don't… I don't like being touched."

"I'm touching you right now."

"Don't be stupid, that's different."

"Is it? Good. I like this dress. And you do dance rather well. But why are you here?"

"Mitaka wanted help wooing Anriel."

"He's still on her?"

"Yes?"

"I suppose I should be relieved."

"Why?"

He grins at her. "It means he hasn't noticed you yet."

She laughs at him, but it's shaky. She cannot forget Mina's words. "So you're not angry with me."

"A little. I'm angry that you felt the need to sneak out. I'm angry that some idiot thought he could touch you. And I'm angry that you danced with Mitaka, but not me. But, I do trust you Kit."

She smiles at the admission, then scoffs. "I wasn't dancing. It was swaying at best. We were just trying to get Anriel's attention."

"You got my attention."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Your badge, you used to get into the club."

"Stalker."

"Come now," Hux tugs her closer, sliding one hand to her hip. The fingers of his other hand interlock with hers. "Dance with me."

"Tidge, we're in public."

"No one can see us," is this lighting, Kit can see his lips have been stained red with her lipstick. She can see that his eyes are dark and he looks like he needs this. She smiles.

"Fine," she concedes, allowing him to guide her movements, to lead her into the motions of dancing. It is not unlike his dancing with Wenra, only he holds her closer. Looks her in the eyes.

The night air becomes cold, but his arms around her body make her feel warm.

"I saw your music box. On my desk."

"Oh. Did you like it?"

"You didn't tell me you wanted one. I'm sure I could've gotten you a nicer one, one that's newer. That one is very old. And damaged."

"I like it. Besides," she guides a hand through his hair. "Now I can force you to dance with me at home."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Took too long (and last part isn't edited, just binge writing) but at least its long. I think next chapter should be quicker.**

 **hope you like it.**

They've never entered their rooms at the same time. They've never walked the halls together unless it was under some official capacity, she acting as Phasma's assistant or as his aid. During these times, Kit usually walked a few steps behind them to show that she was in a lower position. Perhaps it is to keep up appearances, even when she's in civilian clothes, or maybe it's because she's accustomed to maintaining the space. Either way, Hux has to grab her arm to pull her to his side when she lingers behind him.

"Come on," he demands, gripping firmly and tugging insistently.

The halls are mostly empty, it reminds her of those first weeks when she would sneak back to the barracks after their time together. She remembers the time well, remembers the mixing of pleasure and embarrassment, and a little shame. She remembers confusion.

Kit doesn't feel this way now, and it's something she hadn't realized until now. She is not ashamed, not of what she does with him or how she feels for him, whatever the sentiment may be. She is no longer confused, at least not really, about where she stands with the General. However, she does remember that these halls are not really empty, they are just _mostly_ empty, which means that someone will be coming around a corner or out of a room and see her in this dress and Hux with his hand around her wrist. This is what makes her tug away from him, remove herself from his grasp, although she knows that Armitage has not given a thought to the fact that they might be caught. When her sudden movement pulls her from his fingers he turns to look at her, annoyed expression on his face.

"Someone might see us," she whispers, looking around pointedly.

A furrow forms in his brow, as if he just realized this. She looks at her feet. "I should go check on Dopheld."

"Who?" He mutters, seeming genuinely confused. His left hand reaches out for hers again, she pretends to fix her hair to avoid his grasp.

"Mitaka. Don't pretend you don't know his name, you know everyone on your ship."

"He seemed well occupied with Anriel when we left him at the Duchess. I doubt he's even back on base."

"Well, I think I should at least try to message him soon, just to make sure everything went alright."

"You can do that back in our room. Now, come on."

"I'll see you back there, Ok?"

She knows, from the way his lips purse briefly, that he is about to ask a slew of questions. Or rant. Probably some mixture of both. And usually she is able to humor him. In their rooms, she has learned how to differentiate between the important and the unimportant, when to pay actual attention and when to simply look him in the face and give the occasional encouraging nods. In public she sometimes will overhear the beginnings of one of his lectures and listen in on his harsh words, a little amused by the bewildered and somewhat terrified expressions of his targets. Tonight, however, in this brightly lit hall, she isn't really in the mood.

His mouth opens, she is prepared to walk away if she has to, but another noise stops his words from coming out. It's his comm device.

"Shouldn't you look at that," Kit asks, after a long moment of silence.

He frowns at her once more before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the device. He casts one quick glance, as if suspecting some insipid issue, and then turns his attention back to her. Then, his eyes widen, and he does a double take.

His reaction startles her, the look of near panic that flashes behind his eyes.

"What is it," she demands, trying to stand on her toes to look at the words, but he quickly shoves the comm back into his pocket and checks his tie, pulling to make sure it's tight.

"It's nothing. I just have a meeting." He runs his fingers through his hair, then glances around quickly. Kit hears nothing, but his sudden shift in mood has her wondering if there are eyes on her. "I'll return to our rooms later. I expect you to be there."

She gives him a gentle frown before nodding and turning to walk away. He is storming a head of her, however, she watches the long line of his back as he goes down the hall. For a brief moment she is distracted, searching for her own comm device to message Dopheld, when suddenly she feels a hand at her waist and lips on her forehead. She had not realized that his heavy footsteps were not retreating, but approaching, until it was too late.

"Get to the room. I shouldn't be long."

"Fine. Fine, just go already."

One more kiss is pressed to her forehead and then he is really leaving this time, walking away in long strides. The set of his shoulders seems stressed, this meeting is obviously important to him. It's lucky, she thinks, that she reminded him to wipe the lipstick from his face when they were still at the Duchess.

Kit sends a quick message to Dopheld, just to ask if everything went well. His response was almost immediate, which meant that the night had not be successful.

'Can you meet me?'

She lets loose a huff of air before responding. 'Where?'

Hux walks down the long, dark passage to Snoke's holo. It is an elaborate and dramatic display, the old man is made to look much larger. Though he has seen the man in person and knows what he looks like, old shriveled and weak, the effect is not lost on him. Snoke looks imposing, powerful. Hux still feels the need to bow his head, even if only slightly, in deference.

Kylo isn't there, surprisingly. Hux rarely meets the man alone, it makes the encounter somewhat more tense.

"You have been to the base."

It is not a question, but Hux answers the gravelly voice. At least, he tries to. Before he can get out a word, Snoke continues, cutting him off and continues as if he had not spoken. "Did you not feel the need to report your findings to me?"

This is not a question either. This is a challenge.

"It was late, Supreme Leader. I thought that I would wait until morning."

"Now."

Hux tries to resist frowning and fails. "Things are ahead of schedule. The choice in location was ideal, the magma currents beneath the surface of the mountains make for an excellent source of energy. The basic infrastructure has been constructed. Turning it into a weapon… that is the next part." He says these words a quickly as he can without losing his ability to be understood. He should not have waited to tell Snoke this information. He did not want to test the Supreme Leader's patience any further.

"There's something you aren't telling me," the old man prompts. Hux knows that the guard he has put in place on his mind is adequate- if only just- to protect himself against Kylo. He never, not once, allowed himself the illusion that he was protected from Snoke. His only really protection from this man's probing Force is that he does not see Hux as a threat, and Hux is well aware of this. He knows that if Snoke for one moment saw him as anything more than a useful tool, he would be eliminated.

"I am… somewhat uncomfortable with the regiment put in place. I do not know these men, have not worked and fought beside them. How can I know that they are up to the task?"

"What do you propose?"

This is a tactic that Snoke sometimes employs, one that Hux is, unfortunately, very familiar with. He will give up some small concessions, allow Hux to take control on certain matters. In the beginning it had made him feel important and somewhat proud, as if this was the Supreme Leader's way of rewarding him by bestowing him with greater responsibility. He has long since seen through this.

"I think that the troops should serve under me for a tour. I will be able to evaluate their skills and whether or not I think it wise for them to continue on the operation."

"See it is done. This… project you have put in place. It may come to be useful."

Almost without thought, Hux inclines his head in a sort of bow. "Thank you, Supreme Leader."

The man's face, scarred and shrunken and grey, shows no sign of approval. His last words are familiar, an almost perfunctory dismissal now. "Do not fail me."

The door opens, revealing Kylo Ren. Either he is late or Snoke requested to meet him at a different time. It makes Hux feel uneased, as if the two men are sharing information behind his back, things that he are not privy to.

It is an afterthought, after Hux watches the man remove his helmet and meet their leader's gaze, that Kylo Ren has the ability to move things with his mind. He has seen him lift men several feet in the air, gasping for air and choking from the force of an invisible hand.

It would take very little effort, Hux is certain, to do something small. Like moving a blanket from the closet and onto the bed of an unsuspecting, sleeping young woman.

Hux rushes through the halls, feeling the need to get back to his room, back to her, as quickly as possible.

"What exactly did she say to you Dopheld?"

"She said some things."

"What things?" she repeats, feeling a little more frustrated.

Mitaka's eyes are large and round on his sharp face and he is both staring at her and avoiding her eyes. His naturally pale cheeks are still slightly flushed. "Things I don't want to repeat."

Which means that they were things about Kit.

"She doesn't like me very much Dopheld. I'm probably hurting your chances…" she's teetering on the line, considering her options and if she should say what seems glaringly obvious. "If you want we can stop sitting together at meal time and-"

"Don't be ridiculous. You're my friend- my only friend too. I'm not going to turn my back on you over a girl."

He says this quickly and does not look at her until the end. She smiles. "Not even Anriel."

Her shoulder bumps his, he smiles in return. "No. Not even Anriel."

Kit jumps up and holds out her hand for his. "We should go out again tomorrow. I'll be your wingman but with another girl."

He pushes for another smile, this one more certain than the last, when he takes her hand in his own and pulls himself to his feet. "We'll need a better plan that the one you used tonight. Faking a laugh? What are we? 12?"

Kit laughs, pulling him in to dance, this time just holding his shoulders. "Really? I didn't hear you making any brilliant suggestions."

He seems more comfortable with this position. "We'll work on it. Are you sure tomorrow is fine?"

She thinks of Hux, who may protest to the idea. She'll have to find a way to placate him somehow, maybe with a promise to return quickly. "Tomorrow should be fine."

When she reaches the room, feeling slightly better about her friend's situation, Hux is waiting in the sitting area. The door has barely opened and he is already walking towards her, a strained expression on his face.

"What is it?" Kit asks, pausing in the threshold. He has to pull her the rest of the way in and shut the door behind her.

"Where have you been?" He demands, trying to keep his voice gentle. He is not really angry with her, he is simply concerned that his rival has taken an interest in her.

"With Mitaka. He wanted to talk about Anriel."

"Now? At this time of night?"

"Not everyone can schedule their emotions Tidge," Kit chides, its only half playful, patting his cheek and walking away. "Are you showering with me or not?"

She rarely ever invites him for this act, though he often joins her. She really only does this when she wants to distract him, which immediately puts the man on guard. He shakes his head, declining, something that catches her _off_ guard. He does, however, follow her to the fresher, removing his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt as she kicks of the shoes she had been wearing. He pushes her hand away when she goes for the zipper at her back, instead pulling it down for her.

"Is he okay?" He asks after bending forward to press a kiss on her forehead. She turns to him, an expression of surprise on her face.

"Do you actually care?"

"You do." He replies bluntly. He is not pretending to care about Mitaka's situation, but he does care about how it affects her.

"He seems better. I think he might be getting over her."

He nods. "That's good."

She hesitates slightly and places a hand on his shoulder, feigning nonchalance. "He wants me to go out with him again."

The frown that Hux gives is expected, Kit was prepared for this. The possessive hand that clutches her back where the zipper of her dress ends is not as expected, but also not surprising. The fact that he looks at her face and nods is somewhat confusing.

The words, "I'll go with you," takes her completely by surprise.

"What do you mean?" She asks, as he tugs at the strap of her dress to let it fall to the ground. The room is still warm, which means he hasn't touched the thermostat yet, but there is still a slight chill without clothing to protect her- one that makes her shiver slightly.

"I mean that I'll come with you. I won't be hovering of course, but I will be there, to keep an eye on you."

"I don't need a babysitter Tidge." She turns on the water and tests it with her hand. "Get out," she demands after stepping out of the pool of fabric.

"Why?"

"You're not washing."

"Doesn't mean I can't sit in here with you," demonstrating, he puts the lid down on the toilet and sits on it.

She sighs, pushing hair off of her face in mild exasperation. "Fine. Whatever." Stepping under the stream of water, Kit pulls the curtain behind her with a decisive snap that makes his smirk.

"I don't plan on babysitting Kit. I… like music."

She laughs at him, a soft giggle that is almost drowned out by the patter of water. He frowns to cover up the fact that he likes the sound.

"You hate people," she smirks, scratching her scalp and lathering shampoo in to her hair.

"You hate people too."

"Not as much as you do. And I like dancing."

"I like dancing with you." He smiles at her when she peeks her head behind the shower curtain, hair still white with soap bubbles.

"You couldn't just dance with me Tidge." Her laughter dies out and she looks away. Hux feels concern coiling somewhere, but he resists the urge to stand up and go to her. "You couldn't dance with me at all." She turns away from him and Hux remains seated, mouth slightly open as if expecting the right words to somehow fly from his mouth despite the fact that his mind can think of nothing.

"Kit?"

"Tell me about… wherever you've been recently."

"Cold. And… green."

"Plants die in the cold."

"Not all plants. Some plants… Kit do we need to talk?" He finally pushes himself to stand up, walking to the curtain. It is a flimsy shield, he can see her though the sight is somewhat distorted.

She is bend beneath the water, the stream falling directly on her head. Perhaps it is her mood, perhaps it is her attempt at being heard over the patter on the walls and the floor but her voice sounds sharp when she responds. "Nope."

"Come here," he demands, startling her by pulling back the plastic guard and tugging her arm to try to get her to face him again.

"Not now!" she yells, punching him with one wet hand and trying to pull from his grasp.

"Come here," he insists and she turns to glare at him.

"I'm not done," she punches him one more time, the other hand clutching a washrag.

"Well then" he huffs, frustrated. She's not even giving him anything to work with- he doesn't know why she's upset or what he could possibly say to make it better. "At least- at least let me help."

"Don't need it," she replies curtly.

"Then …. Hurry up."

She glares at him and steps back beneath the water.

"Are you upset with me?" he asks, deciding that the time for subtlety is over. They should always be direct with one another, beating around the bush doesn't suit them.

"No," she lies, and he can tell. He leaves it alone though, lets her finish washing and tries not to get too wet from the splash. The makeup she forgot to wash off is now smeared, he places a hand under her chin and tilts her face up. She makes sure to keep her eyes trained away from him as he tries to get most of the stuff off.

"This didn't look bad on you."

She gives him withering look. "Really? How nice."

"That's- uh- that's not what I meant!"

Kit pulls back the curtain and storms out of the fresher. Hux covers his face with his hands and groans before turning off the water and following her. "What is wrong?"

"I said nothing," she snaps, pulling a sleep shirt over her head. "You just got back Tidge."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I don't want to argue tonight." Her towels are on the floor, something that she knows is a peeve of his. "I just want to hear about your time … wherever you were. And I want to make sure that it was a success and that this meeting that seemed to freak you out wasn't that big of a deal. And I want to cuddle."

He smirks at that last bit, feeling a bit more at ease as he pulls on his own sleepwear. "Are you angry with me?"

"No. No, I'm not. I – I did miss you. I literally just got done at Kessel when you left."

"Well I'm here now. We both are. And I want to hear about Kessel. Not just that it was disgusting- I saw enough of that for myself."

She lets herself laugh at that, sitting on the bed and patting the space beside her. "Well, sit down. Let's talk."

"Have you eaten?"

"I could… I could eat some fruit if you insist."

"You were telling me about Kessel," he calls, prompting her to speak as he prepares something light to eat.

"Well, it's pretty much all in my report. One of the men I ran messages for years ago, I offered to pick up an odd job for him. It… it got me back into some circles. It wasn't long before I found Ando Gorma." She chews on her lower lip and smirks up at him. "Is it bad that I kind of missed it?"

"Missed what?"

"The… madness of life in a large city. The oddness and the randomness. It's fun sometimes, living it … chaos."

"I don't think I like the sound of that," he frowns, and she laughs a little at the obvious concern on his face. "I'm serious. This is why I – dammit Kit please pick up your towel- this is why I prefer you on the ship."

"Admit it. I'm more useful out there."

"I don't want you useful. I want you safe." Hux approaches the bed and settles beside her. "You said a woman thought you got her pregnant?"

"Ooooh, that! She doesn't think I got her pregnant she just… wants a husband I guess. We slept next to each other one night when I was hiding with some of Raynar's thugs. I didn't… deflower her, but she found out she was pregnant later on and I was an obvious target. I think she thought I was kind and wouldn't have minded me, even if I might have been horribly disfigured."

She puts a piece of fruit between her teeth and pulls back the blanket. Out of the corner of his eye he sees, just beneath the layer of fabric, one of his shirts. It reminds him of his suspicions, of what made him so panicked when she was not there when he returned. The amusement at her stories leave him and he interrupts her before she can continue.

"I have a question for you."

Kit's brow furrows at the sudden change of mood, but she nods, pushing a wet lock of hair from her forehead. "What is it?"

"Do you remember… Do you remember when we first met?"

She head tilts to the side and she frowns at him. "Not fondly, but yes. I do."

"Do you remember the encounter you had with Kylo Ren?"

Kit sits up a little straighter and Hux knows that this conversation must make her somewhat uncomfortable. No one enjoys those interactions with that brat, especially since he does not care for gentleness. Some people are left mentally broken from their experiences. Most are never the same, not after the barbarian tears into them and leaves what he touches broken and abused. Hux doesn't want to have to ask her about it, has made a great effort to avoid any potentially painful pieces of her past. But this… this is important.

"I remember Tidge."

"I need to know. Have you been feeling anything like that- like him in your mind- recently?"

Kit looks down at her hands, but shakes her head. "No. Why?" _He knows. He knows about that scene in the lockers, he knows that Kylo touched her and she allowed it to happen and that he threw her against a wall and she allowed that to happen too. He knows._

"Because I've been thinking. No one but you came into this room while I was gone Kit, the footage shows that. But Ky- but there are certain people who can move things without having to touch them. They can move them with they're minds."

She looks up into his face. "You think that Commander Ren somehow moved things around this room?"

"Not somehow. With the Force?"

"Why would he do that?" She's confused, and he understands this. She doesn't understand the nature of his relationship with this… man.

"Simply put: to show me that he could. To torment me."

Kit shakes her head again. "I don't think that it was him."

Hux rubs the bridge of his nose and forces a laugh. "And why is that?"

"I don't think he would be that subtle. A blanket, a shirt. A music box. The Commander strikes me as the sort of man who would throw things around, make a huge mess. Choke one of us or something."

"I'm still useful, he wouldn't risk being so obvious now."

"He's been busy. Poring through the streets looking for any mention of that… Map? That's what he's looking for, right? And why would he wait until you left?"

Kit waits for an answer that does not come. Hux is silent, but it doesn't take long for Kit to understand what that silence means.

'He's using me to get to you.'

"Well I don't think it was him," she repeats, this time in an over bright tone as she climbs into Hux's lap and presses twin kisses to each cheek. "I'm a very forgetful person. I probably grabbed the blanket or the shirt while half asleep. And the music box I might've just forgot to put away." Her fingers find the hair on either side of his face and give a gentle tug, making sure that he is looking at her. "I'm sorry I spooked you. I think I overreacted too quickly and now you're seeing enemies in shadows and-"

"I've always seen enemies in shadows Kit. Because there are enemies in shadows." His hands tighten at her waist, an act that Kit wonders if he even noticed. "This place is filled with people who would see me fall. To take up my position or to- to fill it with someone who might be easier to manipulate. We can trust no one here, no one."

The words 'no one but each other' go unspoken. But both hear them.

When Kit finally speaks, after too long of looking into Hux's eyes, her voice is scratchy. "You touched the thermostat?"

She wants to change the subject and with a nod, Hux accepts this. "Yes." He shifts back on the bed, moving her with him. When he is up against the headboard he pulls the blankets up to cover her shoulders.

"Couldn't even wait one night?"

"I'd wake up sweaty."

"Uh, fine. Tell me about your secret mission."

"Secret Kit. Means I can't really speak about it."

"Was it a success? Can you answer to that?"

He smiles at her snark and tries to relax a bit. "Yes."

"Did everyone obey your express commands?"

"Yes, they did."

"You said it was cold, where you were. Was there… Snow?"

Something in her voice made this question sound almost anticipating, though it's obvious she tried her best to sound nonchalant. Hux pounces on this, hands settling at her hips. "I was indoors most of the time."

"But you would know if there was snow."

"It was very cold and I didn't have much time for sightseeing and-"

"Tidge."

"There was snow. It snowed the entire time I was there. Apparently played hell on the building plans." It was a slip up, a minor one, but for a moment Hux felt concern that he was too comfortable with her. She now knew that whatever project he had been involved with required construction of some sort- construction that could be inhibited by weather- and was in a snowy place. The Resistance could piece together those bits of information and narrow down the site location before the project was ready. The Resistance could-

Kit was still on the snow.

"What did it look like?"

He scoffs at that, feeling somewhat less on edge. If it wasn't for the meeting with Snoke and his suspicion of Kylo, he is certain that he would not have even considered the possibility of her betrayal, but now he is on alert.

"You've seen snow before."

"Yes, in grainy holos and images in books. Never in person. What does it look like?"

He shuts his eyes and tries to concentrate on what he had seen. Arkanis snows were common enough when it was cold, but it was never the thick blanket he had seen recently. "White."

She hits his arm and he chuckles, taking her wrist in his hand. "Let me finish. White. Covering every surface, thick. Solid in some places, powdery in others. If the wind was strong enough, it would catch some and blow it in the air. The rare times the sky wasn't grey and the sun was able to shine through, the ground would sparkle. It was, rather beautiful."

When he opens his eyes to gauge her reaction, Hux is surprised to see that Kit has closed her eyes as well. She is trying to visualize. He places one hand on the side of her face and her eyes open. "What?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head, pulling the hand away, but she quickly covers it with her own.

"You told me that I would see it one day."

"You will. This won't be a secret project forever, one day we will have to put it into action." Hux rolls to his side, depositing her on the bed next to him. They both lay facing each other. "We're getting closer every day Kit. Soon we will have what we need to finish this war and restore Order."

She smiles at him, warm and sweet, and Hux feels a warmth spread through him. The way she looks at him, the kindness. The care. He wonders if she even knows what it means to him.

"And after?" She asks, pulling him from his reveries.

"After what?"

"After the First Order Wins. After the, what was it you said in that speech again. 'The Chaos of the Republic is forces to bend beneath the will of Order and Authority?' What happens after that?"

His brow furrows. He hasn't given that much thought. He assumes he'll be on some sort of committee, that he'll maintain some measure of power. In the back of his mind a word whispers to him, one that he knows is dangerous to even think. Emperor.

"I don't know. But we'll figure it out."

The next morning Hux wakes and readies himself for the day. He is standing in the mirror, adjusting his tie, and in the reflection he can see Kit stir in her sleep. From her schedule he knows that she is off duty today, or else he would have poked her awake when he arose. Instead, now, he comes to her side and kisses her cheek. It rouses her a little, for a moment her eyes open and she peers up at him.

"Where are you going?"

"The Bridge, Kit. I'll see you for lunch, OK? Are you hearing me?"

She nods, grumbling some response he doesn't really understand and taking the blankets around herself to roll over into the warmth. A part of her is disappointed, he's going so soon. Another part of her understands, the Finalizer is his ship and he's been gone for days. He will want to check to make sure no one has destroyed it somehow in his absence.

Hux lingers at the bedside, eyes focused on the only part of her that is visible: the dark sot of hair above the blanket. Waiting for her to protest his departure, he is only now realizing that he is still deciding. It would be easy for him to demand a day of rest following the trip and travel. He arrived late last night, many people would take advantage of that to take a personal day. He could crawl into bed next to Kit, doze in and out of sleep for the next few hours. He could search for that holovid she said they would watch together. He could interrogate her, subtly of course, until she told him what exactly had her so upset last night.

Instead he moves an errant of hair off his face, dons his overcoat, and leaves her. If she wakes up on time, she will join him for lunch. If she doesn't, she will see him after his shift.

It feels good, to be back. He can feel the lost since of security he'd felt last night coming back, growing each step, with each fear and respect covered face he passes. This is his element, on his ship, on his Bridge, where every command is obeyed without a word of doubt. Here, Hux feels in total control.

Nothing has changed since his departure. The crew, well trained in their roles, continued to perform even without his presence lingering over them. He does, however, suspect that some were slacking while he was gone. It makes him, perhaps, a bit harsh.

"Lieutenant!" He snaps, voice cracking through the hum of activity that surrounds him. Three heads jerk up, only one of them meets his gaze.

"Yes General."

"Please explain to my why the exhaust system is working at 94 percent efficiency."

"I-" The man's gaze shifts, as if searching for a scapegoat. "I- It may be the speed we reached during the journey here and-"

"Are you saying the Finalizer cannot endure high speeds?"

The Lieutenant's eyes widen, something Hux was not sure was possible. It almost makes him smirk. "No General. Of course not."

"See to it that we are at 100 percent before midday."

"Yes General."

Hux turns away to hide a grin. It is good to be back.

Kit awakens not long after her bedmate leaves for the day. She's technically not scheduled for duty, but after finally accepting that she won't be able to fall back asleep, she climbs out of bed and looks around the room. Hux, before leaving, made sure to clean up whatever disorder she had caused during his absence. She isn't certain of how she should waste time until she leaves the base with Mitaka. If Hux had just been normal for once and took a day off she could've spent the day with him. It's a sudden realization, not extremely significant, that she and Hux have never just spent a day with one another. Nights, yes. Random stolen moments throughout the day, also yes. And even though she knows they cannot go out on dates, for walks or to films or dinners, she wonders if they would survive such an extended period of time with one another, or if they would start to get on one another's nerves. Maybe he would grow tired of her humming, maybe she would be bothered by his pacing.

Kit would muse about this idea, this worry, even further, but an alert on her comm distracts her. It's from Phasma. Less than twenty minutes later Kit finds herself outside the base and dressed, as commanded, in her civilian clothes. After a few minutes pass she begins to worry that she is at the wrong exit but no, when she looks to her left she can see the rapid approach of two figures. One is Phasma, her chrome armor distinctive and shiny in the sun. Kit wonders if she is warm in the suit, or if there is some sort of cooling unit inside to help her. Beside her captain, Kit is unnerved to see the approach of the figure she and Hux had been speaking of yesterday. Kylo.

She stands at attention, not wanted to earn his rage again. The bruises are still on her skin, evidence of their last meeting. The fact that Hux hasn't noticed them is a testament to her ability to find trouble. "Ma'am. Sir."

"I require your assistance today." The Commander stands before her. He towers over her, but then again so does Phasma. So does Hux. Maybe it's the fact that he always looks hunched like he's… looming over her.

Nodding, Kit swallows hard and tries to look calm. "Yes, sir."

Phasma steps forward. When she speaks, Kit is struck by the realization that her voice is not as garbled, not as altered, in the way that Kylo's is. She wonders if this is intentional.

"What do you know of Mandalore?"

"Very little," Kit responds, honest. If they are expecting her to somehow gain the same amount of information she did on Kessel, they are mistaken. This is not her territory. "Before we came here I had rarely ever even heard of it."

"The man you brought to us seemed to recall business with a specific person here. What do you know of Alana Mitsa."

The name does stir up old memories. Kit had run into Alana Mitsa on Kessel only a handful of times, but she left a mark. She had been an ugly woman, though perhaps it had more to do with the sour expression that frequently painted her features. Her thin face was often pinched in a scowl, sometimes just a frown, but rarely ever a smile. Kit knew little about her, only that she traded in goods and information. Alana Mitsa was probably very ugly, but Kit had admired her all the same. She was a small woman, in both height and form. Her hair had been cut short, jagged and uneven like she had done it herself with a dull blade. Her clothing was what she could find, often ill-fitting and soiled and odd on her narrow but feminine body. She walked through the streets of Kessel, uninhibited and unafraid. Something in the set of her eyes demanded respect, and for those who would not listen, she always kept a knife or a blaster handy. Kit had envied and admired her, for the freedom she earned.

"I know of her," was all she could say after realizing she had been quiet for too long.

Phasma moves a bit to the side and Kylo fills the space. Kit turns her head to look him in the eyes, or where she supposes his eyes would be. She can feel him again, gentler this time, as if he is trying to be subtle about attempting to break into her mind. She holds the gaze a little longer before turning her attention back to Phasma. "There was a bar that she mentioned once. To a man in Kessel. It was called…" Kit closes her eyes and tries to see the memory. One of the old dives on Kessel, she doesn't remember the name because one wasn't really too different from the other. Dirt and bad lighting, terrible music and too many people to avoid the smell, but at least most of the time it was warm. Alana had worn her rare smile and told a young mercenary that if was ever in Mandalore he should look up the Riz.

"You had plans to go out with Lieutenant Mitaka tonight, correct?" Kit doesn't have to ask how Kylo received this information, he picked through the poor man's mind. She wonders if he is even aware of it now, or if the sensation is so familiar that he doesn't even notice anymore. She wonders if this is the reason behind his nervous disposition.

Right now Kit also wonders if Kylo is using Mitaka as a way of keeping tabs on her. She knows that Hux has his suspicions, believes that Kylo has an interest in her. She knows that she has also wondered if the masked man is watching her behind guarded eyes with special interests.

 _Don't think of it now._

"Yes, Sir." She nods instead.

"Then you will go there tonight. See what you can find."

"Yes Sir."

So Kit returns to her room and paces the floor and tries to breath, because this is not what she wanted. The constant overlap between her past life and this new one she was attempting to cut out for herself, it was not good for her. And the crisscross between her personal life and her professional life was even worse. She had only wanted to go out for fun with a friend, and now it's a mission.

Kit looks at Hux's hat on the table and smirks, because the irony is not lost on her. She wants a personal life and a professional life, but yet here she is, sharing a bed with her boss. That same boss and lover sends her a message around midday that he cannot meet her for lunch, too much to do. She understands.

She also understands when Hux isn't there when Mitaka sends a message to her. He is busy, the man always worked long hours. It is also a relief that he isn't there, she doesn't need a chaperone and it would only make the entire ordeal for more like a mission. She doesn't put on a dress that night either, instead opting for some of the civilian clothes she bought. The shirt is simple but acceptable, she thinks. The pants are fitted without taking away any of her mobility. She's comfortable in this.

Mitaka looks surprised or maybe disappointed when he sees the change from last night, but he takes her arm all the same. "Are you ready?" he asks, eyeing the high bun she's forced her hair into. It's the same style she wears around the base.

"Of course," she smiles, trying to loosen up. "Have you ever heard of the Riz?"

He nods, familiar with the location but also confused. "Yes. I've heard of it but why?"

"I overheard someone talking about it," that, at least, wasn't a lie. "Thought it'd be fun." That was a lie.

Mitaka thinks it over and decides that she might be right. "You know? Let's give it a try. Might be fun. Maybe the rumors aren't true."

Kit feels triumph and then concern. "What rumors?"

It is still the same lively and bustling city it had been when she was searching for a dress or walking to the Duchess with Dopheld, but now Kit feels less at ease. It's the mission, she knows. It's the fact that with every winding curve they seem to be getting closer and closer to what would be considered the slums of Mandalore. Even Dopheld, who moments before had seemed confident, now hesitated.

"Are you sure about this?"

She turns and gives him a bright smile. "Very sure."

The Riz turns out to be a small hole in the wall. There's a bouncer at the door who barely gives them a glance and doesn't check their identification. Inside there is a bar and a small dance floor and a small area that looks like people are playing cards. Kit doesn't hesitate, not now, grabbing Mitaka by the hand and pulling him into the anonymity of the mass of moving bodies.

They dance separately this time and he seems more comfortable with this. When a young woman goes to the bar to order a drink, Kit gestures to her. "Go talk to her!"

"What?" he shouts over the music, startled.

"Ask her to dance!"

So Kit watches as her friend asks this stranger to dance. She is actually quite pretty, face painted subtly in a way that makes her look a little like a doll and long blond hair. Her dress is similar to the purple one Kit had tried on the day before. She smiles and nods and laughs and when Mitaka gestures to the dance floor the girl accepts his arm and follows him.

She seems sweet.

In a place like this, she might rob Mitaka blind.

Kit takes advantage of his distraction to go to the bar. She orders one beverage she knows she won't drink and waits for the bartender to bring it too her. As he wipes out another glass she crosses her arms and leans over the counter, giving him her most charming smile.

"I'm new in town!" she yells over the music.

"Huh." Was the uninterested response.

"Yeah! I heard this place was a good spot to meet people!"

He doesn't even look at her.

"Heard about it from a friend. Maybe you know her."

"Doubt it."

"Alana Mitsa! Come on, no one misses Alana!"

The man's eyes flicker to her face when the name passes through her lips. For one second, Kit is afraid he'll reach across the bar and grab her, but the moment passes and forces this mask of neutrality to return to his features. "I don't know you're little friend. Just take your drink."

So Kit drops the smile and leans forward even more, so she doesn't have to yell. The man's eyes twitch again and he almost seems to take a step back, but instead holds his ground. "What if I know about a shipment?"

The bubbly party girl act gone, the man actually takes the time to take her in. Looks at her outfit, really looks at her face. "Shipment of what?"

"Nope. My client only wants to talk to Alana." _Please say she isn't here_.

He looks around, sets the glass on the counter, and leans over to fill the space between them. "Haven't seen her in a month. But the guy over there, red hat, ugly scar. He might know something."

Kit pays for her drink, and then some. He stares at the credits on the table and looks a little surprised. She lets the charming grin return, with just enough edge that it doesn't seem like an illusion. "Thanks sweetheart."

She lets one glance pass to Mitaka, who looks more that occupied with the young woman. She keeps her hands in his hair, which seems to say she has not interests, for the moment at least, for what's in his pocket. His eyes meet with Kit's for one moment and he grins. She is pleasantly surprised that the smile she gives him is not forced.

A beep alerts her to a message on her comm. Hux. He can't find her at the Duchess, where is she?

Kit quickly types back "Safe" before turning the machine off and going to the card game.

She stumbles to the table, sloshing the drink out of her hand and over her sleeve. One of the men seated grabs her arm and keeps her upright, she laughs too loudly and sits down. "This is… this is the card game right?" She doesn't slur, that's overacting, but she does put just enough hesitation in her words to suggest an unclear mind.

The one who holds her arm smiles. "Yes," he replies in a thick accent. "Sit, sit."

She slides into a chair and grins like a fool. Her next words are sprinkled with laughter. "I , I don't think I know this game."

"It's easy." This is the man in the red hat. He smirks at her, gives her a once over, and Kit can tell that he knows she is not drunk. He does not say anything, merely let's her lose two rounds and taking her money before standing up and going to the bar. "Come on. I'll buy you another."

She follows him to the bar and sits on the stool. The bartender fixes them both with wary eyes and makes a point of tending to the other customers.

"I'm not giving you back your money," he speaks, downing something from a bottle that smells foul.

"Didn't think you would."

"What do you want?"

Kit takes a deep breath and lets it loose. "Alana. Alana Mitsa-"

"I know which Alana."

"People think she might have information about a certain operation."

He smirks, putting the bottle to his lips again. "'Operation?' Trust me, Lany don't know nothing about that."

"I need to talk to her."

"Well. You're shit out of luck. Haven't seen her since a shipment went bad a couple weeks back. She's laying low."

Kit chews on her lip and prepares to speak again when there's a hand on her arm, She turns, maybe to move from the contact, maybe to grab the hand and break it. She does neither. It's Dopheld.

"We need to go. The General is-" His voice falters when he sees the man. "Is everything ok?"

"Fine." Kit smiles, standing up. "Where was the shipment going?"

"What?"

"The shipment. The one that fell through. I might find her there."

The man sighs, rubs a hand over his face and groans. "I don't know. She was with this guy… Den, Derek. Something like that?"

Kit reaches forward and he grabs for her hand. She is about to pull back, punch him in the face for her troubles, but then there are images swimming behind her mind and she doesn't know what to do. Her grip tightens.

The man looks pleased at first, perhaps thinking she fears him. The smile slips off and he fixes her with annoyance. "What are you doing?"

"I" _he is holding Alana's hand, telling her not to go. The years have not been kind to her, but her face is still sharp and young despite the dark circles and crooked nose, evidence of multiple breaks_. "I don't" ' _It won't take long. I'll be back soon' a soft smile, she is fond of him_. "I don't know." ' _Del is the best. I'll be safe.'_

The man pulls away from Kit, pulls her from the world that is half illusions and half reality. The sudden pull away from what she quiclly realizes are his thoughts, his memories, is jarring and disorienting and the music and movement of the Riz seems almost like watching shadows.

"Hey," he grabs for her again, this time around the neck. Kit is still not there, not all together, not really, and she doesn't try to fight back at first. The contact takes her back into his mind, but this time it is just flashes, an odd mix of his affection for Alana and of violence. Too much, his mind is a million places at once and Kit can feel her pulse drumming in her ears.

If it wasn't for Mitaka, he might have killed her. He lands one solid blow to the man's chin, one that has him releasing her long enough for Mitaka to grab her by the wrist and pull her with him. She follows mindlessly, still caught in the madness of one man's mind and now shifting over, barely into the concerned warmth that his her friend. When they are out of the club she moves from his grip and slumps against a wall, suddenly feeling ill.

"Are you alright?" He demands, coming forwards. She doesn't respond, but when he reaches to touch her again Kit pulls away. His expression is hurt and she knows his mind is back to that night outside the Cantina, when the night nearly ended with her breaking his arm. It's not like that. She's not afraid that he will hurt her. But she really need a moment to breath and she doesn't want to see inside of his mind too.

"It's not that," she remarks, grabbing his arm. Not skin. She can still feel the slight hum, but that might just be her own residual panic. He relaxes though, which is good. Makes her feel a bit more calm too. "I just need a moment."

"The General-"

"Did you tell him where we are?"

"Yes."

Great. That means she has a few moments to collect herself before Hux comes, concern and annoyance and stupid remarks about how she'd be safer if she just stayed on the base. She's not in the mood, but she won't lie. She does want to see him.

It is a weakness and it almost makes her sick but she wants him to hold her.

His form becomes visible a few minutes later under the streetlight and Kit releases Mitaka's arm to stand at attention. His rapidly approaching figure makes her want to retreat, but she holds her ground and prepares for the General act, when he demands what two troops thought they were doing in a dive like this, disguising concern with authority.

Hux barely has a chance to open his mouth when an alert buzzes on Mitaka's comm. He answers the transmission, holds it to his ear for a few moments before handing it to her. "It's for you."

Kit accepts the device and holds it to her ear. The voice on the other end of the line does not surprise her, but she is still uneased by the sound. "What have you found?"

"Not much, Commander Ren." Her eyes meet Hux's and catches the furrow of his brow at the man's name. "I did, however, get a name for one of her associates. He was with her durung her last mission."

"Go on."

"Del. It's all I could-"

"It's enough."

The transmission ends with a click.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Wrote this while tired. Hope you like it!**

Commander Ren is gone for many days. Usually, this helps with Hux's moods. One less concern on his base, on his ship, one less variable to consider. Though he never really relaxes, Hux is usually able to at least take advantage of these sorts of days by not stressing as much.

That is not the case this time.

The walk back to the base is more than uncomfortable. Hux, of course, says nothing, because he has no logical explanation for why he is roaming the streets looking for Phasma's assistant. Mitaka, sensing the tension between the two, is silent. And Kit, Kit is dealing with too much inside of her own head to deal with others.

Back in the room, when they are alone she expects him to rant and rave. And maybe he has reason to, because this is what people in their… situation are probably meant to keep one another updated to certain issues. He probably thinks that she should have told him when Commander Ren approached her with the mission. He probably thinks that she should have told him when she and Dopheld decided to go somewhere else, a decidedly seedier spot than the Duchess.

Kit, unfortunately, agrees with him. She can understand why he would want to be aware of her movements; she would be upset if he were suddenly to throw himself into potential danger without alerting her. However, the problem with this assumption is that Kit is not used to… checking in with anyone. It was one of the things she valued about her time with Brisen, she had certain responsibilities but outside of that she had near unlimited freedom, because Brisen and his people had not cared what happened to her so long as she delivered the right messages and brought in the demanded merchandise.

She waits for him to rant and rave and it does not come. Instead, Kit is forced to wait in anticipation while Hux gives her the cold shoulder. He is not rude, nor does he ignore her. But Kit can tell that he is avoiding her, avoiding having a real conversation. He comes back to the room later and later, is often gone before she wakes. Meals are taken in his office and when they do speak, his words are short and distant and she thinks he is not really there.

If she is being honest, Kit didn't handle the situation as well as she could have. She could have sat him down once they got back to the room and tried to explain the situation to him. But first, she was confused about… what happened at the Riz. And then when he seemed to dismiss her later that inward confusion only bloomed into outward annoyance. So she dismissed him as well.

It doesn't take long for her to get frustrated. It takes an even shorter amount of time for her to become angry. He is not there for her to yell at, so she begins her passive aggressive campaign. Leaving the room in a mess, knowing that he will have to see it during his short returns and that it will aggravate him. Taking the temperature of the room so high that she even she is uncomfortable.

She goes so far as to begin purposefully making slip ups at work. At first it is simple things, bringing him the wrong files from Phasma or mixing up the pages so that he has to reorganize them himself. It gets to the point where, when he sees that she is the messenger, his face falls into a look of expectant annoyance that gives Kit just enough satisfaction to persist.

It takes her writing notes on his papers to finally make him snap. On one finance report sent back to her she writes "He thinks you're incompetent." On a promotion request she scribbles "He would probably fuck you." It's a number of small things, one or two short sentences per document, which progressively getting more and more extreme. And four days later Kit receives six messages in rapid succession on her comm device, something she ignores in favor of eating her lunch and asking Dopheld about the young woman he met at the Riz. He is still blushing and stammering through a response when Hux storms into the mess hall, face red and nostrils flaring. It's would almost be comical, if Kit wasn't so relieved. She had finally gotten a rise out of him.

Nearly all conversation stops as he walks by and Kit can hear the firm sounds of his footsteps. Though Dopheld stiffens and falters in his speech, Kit continues speaking, ignoring her General.

"Kit," he remarks, claiming her attention.

"Yes General," she returns, sitting up a little straighter. She keeps her voice light, feigning obliviousness.

If anything that makes him angrier. "I think you sent me the wrong documents."

"Did I?"

"Yes." He snaps, throwing a stack of pages on the table in front of her. They nearly fall into her soup, if it wasn't for her quick hands.

Dopheld tries to look over her shoulder at the text, but she quickly gathers the pages together. She had given Hux the right document, a response to his plans for the next few offenses against the rebellion. A Grand Marshal, whose name Kit did not care to remember, responded to Hux's plans for travel and attack for the next few battle missions, as well as the distribution of supplies and men.

Kit put notes next to every seemingly negative comment the Grand Marshal politely transcribed onto the page. Things like _"Oh, that was kriffing stupid" and "Darling, what were you thinking?"_

 _"_ _Even I would have known that."_

 _"_ _Stupid"_

 _"_ _This is why you're not Grand Marshall. You don't think."_

 _And finally, a word she hadn't realized would be a knife to his throat. "Useless."_

"Come with me," he demands, walking away. Dopheld looks at her with concern, but she puts pressure on his arm and follows the long line of Hux's back out the room. She knows that he is serious when he walks directly past his office and goes, instead, to their room. She knows that he is serious when he does not wait for her to catch up.

She knows that she has made a mistake when, after the door slams behind them both, he still does not yell at her. He still does not talk about why he's been avoiding her these past days. Instead he marches to his desk and hunches over it, long fingers gripping the back of his chair. She lingers behind him still, satisfaction at finally getting a rise out of him slipping away as she looks at his tense shoulders, and then around their rooms. Dirty clothes on the floor. Bed in a disarray, dirty dishes on nearly every flat surface. In this context, Kit can see the true nature of her actions. She's been childish, avoiding real confrontation as much as he has.

"Tidge, I'm-"

"Quiet," he demands, effectively silencing her with a word.

She feels anger stirring in her again, but tries to bite it down. She'd thrown her temper tantrum. Now was the time to be mature. So she lets herself listen to the sound of his deep breathing before he walks to a cabinet he rarely ever touches and pulls out a decanter of some dark brown liquid. He pours one drink with shakey hands and downs it quickly. The next one he takes slower, as if feeling calmer.

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" he demands, turning to look at her with wide incredulous eyes. "Sorry? Do you think this is some sort of game Kit? Writing those stupid things on my important files? I'm trying to win a war here, Kit, I'm trying to do something bigger than you or me and I do not need your distractions."

She nods and looks away. "I am sorry."

"I don't care."

Anger returns, a small burn in the back of her throat, and she storms towards him, grabbing his face with one hand and forcing him to meet her gaze. "I said that I was sorry. I'm _sorry_. Will you just liste-"

He doesn't pull away, but he does fix her with a sharp glare. "No, no I will not listen. I don't have the time to deal with" his hands moves in a contemplative gesture "with your… childish inclinations."

Kit releases his face and steps away. Though a moment ago she had, to herself, admitted that her actions had been childish, to hear him voice it so dismissively makes her want to contest it. "I'm childish? You've been avoiding me for days! Why? Because you didn't want to admit that- that I hurt your feelings or something."

"You scribbled insults on the borders of documents crucial to our movement. This has nothing to do with whatever…offense you must have imagined. But you obviously know nothing about this, right Kit? You're just a child."

"A child?" She scoffs, truly growing tired of this word. "A child? But only when it's convenient for you, right?"

He turns a shade of red at this comment and she continues to stare him down.

"I may be a child. But I know enough to know that you cannot just push through other people's territories without expecting resistance."

His brow furrows, as if it takes him a moment to recognize this sudden shift in topic. "What are you-"

"Trying to go to Castel for some… stupid reason. Gizer is a neutral territory, they won't simply let you pass through."

His eyes dart around, still adjusting to this change. It's as if Kit is, right now at least, more concerned with proving her knowledge than insulting him or trying to reconcile. He stares at her. "Castel is a poverty stricken region. Their people are usually eager to fight."

"Poverty stricken. That means malnourished and untrained."

"It also means malleable. And grateful… Unlike some."

"I should be grateful to you?" She laughs and his eyes narrow.

"Yes, to me. To the Order. If it wasn't for us you would be-"

"I would back at Brisen's perfectly content. I survived just fine on my own." She steps away from him then, turning away and Hux follows her line of sight into the bedroom. From here, he can see the closet, her clothes and his. And for a split second he wonders if she is considering what to take with her when she flees.

The thought makes him want to recapture her attention, "Armitage."

"What?" she responds, not looking at him.

"I told you to call me Armitage now. Hux, it's…. It's not my name."

She nods. "Sorry. Must've forgotten." Kit looks distant, but not subdued. And Hux stares at her for a moment longer and suddenly she turns to him. "So is that what you do?"

"What do you mean?" He is still confused at the sudden change in mood, which only seems to be shifting again. The confusion makes him suspicious.

"Find people who seem desperate and hope they'll shoot and stab and fuck because they are oh so grateful." Her voice is still soft, almost monotone, and somehow this makes the implied accusation worse.

"What exactly are you saying Kit?" he demands, surprised to hear that his voice is shaky. He isn't sure of what emotion he is suppressing.

"I'm saying, _Hux_ , that you don't know me. You don't know who I am or what I know or what I'm capable of. I'm not a child, _Hux_. I am not stupid, _General_. And you did not rescue me, so if that is what you think-" he waits for a thought that she does not finish, interrupted by the annoying little beep on her comm. She stares at the screen for a moment before reclipping the device to her hip. "I should go back to lunch before they notice I'm gone."

She takes three strides before Hux, wanting to hurt her, spits out words before she can reach the door. "You don't know me either, Kit. You think that I haven't been here because I'm upset? Or angry?" He laughs and it sounds cruel and false and the words that pass through his lips are so distant, he doesn't believe he actually said them. "I haven't been around because I am tired of seeing you here. I am tired of coming back to my space and seeing a mess. I'm bored with you. _Mouse_."

Kit stands there and if he was expecting to see her cry, he would be disappointed. If he was expecting to see her frown or shout back abuses, he would be completely let down.

Instead, he sees her shut her eyes… and look relieved… and he is horrified.

"Is this what you wanted?" He whispers, pulling her from that brief moment. "Do you know why I haven't spoken to you in the last few days, Kit?" he demands, stepping forward and setting the tumbler on his counter. "Do you know why?" He crowds her space and repeats her actions, grabbing her face with both hands and applying a slight pressure. "Because I did not know what I would say. And I did not want to say something I would regret. "

She swallows hard. "What do you mean?"

He scoffs, it sounds sour. "Oh, don't pretend to be stupid. You know exactly what I mean."

"You didn't want to be honest with me?"

His mouth becomes a hard line. "Maybe you aren't a child, Kit. But in so many ways you are still so very stupid."

She pushes against him, anger blooming in her again, but he tightens his grip. "You think I say what I mean when I'm angry. I don't. I say things that I know will hurt you. It's a little something I picked up at the Academy, a very effective way of keeping people in line if you don't want to resort to violence." His hands fall from her face and she steps back but doesn't flee from the room, instead maintaining eye contact. He holds up his hands at his side, where she can see them, as if knowing this is important. "If you think I meant a single word of that stupid speech… then you're not half as smart as you think you are."

His hands settle hesitantly on her shoulders and stay there when she doesn't pull away. "Why were you trying to get a rise out of me Kit?"

Kit holds his gaze and it isn't a glare, though her eyes narrow. "I wanted you to be honest with me."

He squeezes her shoulder and leans forward. "Then ask next time. Like a big girl."

She punches his shoulder and looks as if she would do more but he is already walking out the door, shifting his arm at the pain but leaving her to swim inside her own mind.

He had seen through her, rather easily. Seen through a hidden purpose that she hadn't even realized. Because Kit was still carrying around Mina's warning and, in her mind, Hux's absences had been proof that he was done with her. An abrupt and unexpected change, but something that happened all the time in the markets. Girls would be gone a few weeks, only to be returned for some unexplained reason. He had thrown it, this fear, in her face, only to do more than retract it. To ridicule her for even believing it was possible.

Hux had called her a child, and she felt like one right now, standing in an empty room with the heat of anger removed and whatever tense knot that had been in her stomach suddenly gone. The unspoken tension in the room, between them, seems to have dissipated. She feels… better somehow.

When Hux returns to his room it is late into the night. He expects Kit to be there, beneath layers of blankets and curled onto one side of the bed. It had been something he would look forward to at the end of the day, returning to her side. A chance to pretend that they were absolutely fine, that nothing was wrong between them. Even as she started leaving their room a mess and scribbling those stupid notes on his pages, he still looked forward to the nights when he could come back to her. Since that night at the Riz he had avoided her, was well aware that he had gone out of his way to ignore her. And the reason behind this was very simple.

That night, after that idiot Mitaka had finally left them alone and she had stood, back facing him as she undressed, Hux had actually had to sit at his desk and pretend to work, instead breathing in deep and clenching his fists at his side. Because if he allowed himself to say one word, Hux knew he would not stop. He would yell out offenses, demand how she could possibly have been so stupid as to go out into that place with no backup. He would have questioned her loyalties, why she felt the need to sneak around with Mitaka and do secret missions behind his back for his rival. He would have undoubtedly found some way to bring up her past as a pleasure girl, because he knew that even though it was years in the past it was the easiest way to hurt her with very few words.

He knows that he wouldn't mean it but doesn't trust his self-control. So instead he says nothing. And he waits for the anger to pass. It takes longer than he expects, because he finds new reasons to be angry. There is a great deal of anger directed at Ren, for causing this strife. There is anger directed at Phasma, who knew but did not warn him. There is anger at Mitaka, who did not have the brains to convince her that it was a bad idea, instead following her mindlessly into danger. Though, he almost has to forgive the idiot for that. Kit does have a way of making the worst ideas suddenly seem like genius.

He's angry with her, obviously, for putting herself at risk. He is angry with her for not thinking to tell him first, for maybe not trusting him enough. He is angry with her because when he saw her outside the Riz, outside that hellhole, she looked lost. And he knows that he cares for her, has come to terms with it. It is a weakness, it is his weakness. But he doesn't like to be reminded of it, of how ridiculous he must've looked, storming through streets looking for her. Ren, that fool, must've had a great laugh at his expense.

She isn't there. Hux doesn't feel the bed shift when he gets beneath the blankets, doesn't feel her weight or her warmth. He reaches out a hand and feels nothing. "Kit." He whispers, voice a little more urgent than he expected. "Kit."

He stands and begins searching his quarters, every room. It quickly becomes evident that she is not there. But her clothes are still in the closet and her random objects are still around the room, and that is a small comfort. Small, it doesn't mean she's coming back. A girl like Kit, he is certain, would want to travel light.

Hux does not go around searching for her. He does send one message to her comm, one that receives no response, before trying to force himself back to sleep. It does not work.

The next day Phasma comes to his office and he waits for her to say something about Kit, because the woman has already admitted to being aware of their relationship and she shouldn't beat around the bush. However, Phasma makes no mention of his companion and he, unfortunately, must debase himself by bringing her up.

"Before you go, Phasma," the Captain turns to look at him. "Kit. I haven't heard from her."

When the woman speaks, Hux hears a note of amusement. "I thought she was staying in your quarters."

His fingers drum on the desk before responding. "She is."

Concern is the next emotion the captain shows. "Is something wrong?"

"We quarreled last night. I-" He doesn't finish. "She hasn't responded to my message."

There is a brief silence. "I didn't see her this morning. She usually checks in to make sure I don't need her."

"Any indication to where she may be now?"

She shrugs. The movement of metal is awkward. "No. But she does like the repair shops."

Hux smirks, bitter still, remembering the nights when she would return to his room with connection burns and grease stains on her skin. She does enjoy tinkering.

Phasma leaves and Hux does not leap from his chair to search for her, because he has responsibilities, other things to occupy his mind. She is still there, in the back of his mind, but the thought of her absence does not overwhelm him.

Being General, being burdened with so many tasks and planning and stress, does have its benefits. It is a lovely, impersonal distraction.

He reads over the report that Kit brought back to him the day before, the one that prompted the argument. He hates to admit it, really does, but her comments make sense. She does know things, if only enough to get by, and does not forget them when blinded by a goal, like he must have been. Small details, they are sometimes easy to overlook.

One small detail: Kit left her uniform in the room.

That means, right now, she is in civilian clothes. And she could be anywhere.

Hux drops the report on his desk and paces the floor.

Kit likes walking at night. It's something she realized rather quickly after her escape. Walking at night, it was peaceful. Sure there was the threat of a stranger in the darkness, but it was surprisingly a time that Kit felt safe. She moved through empty streets, comm off, and tried to find the calm that these nightly excursions used to give her. It almost works.

Walking up and down unknown streets and back alleyways, Kit hears the familiar thrum of music and, just a block away, can see the lights. It's a club. Not the Duchess, this one looks less popular and more tucked away. But Kit is not unwilling to lose herself in the sounds of music, in the movements of her body, so she goes there, walks past a bouncer that gives her a curious look and enters the darkened room. The lights, pulsing and flashing, allow her to get a feel for her surroundings. The women are all young and lovely, the men a range of young and old. Kit can feel the music pulsing in her ears as she shuts her eyes and tries to give herself to distraction.

Hux would hate it here. Too many people, too many noises, and though all of her senses are on fire Kit feels oddly at peace. There is no time to dwell on her thoughts, not when she is processing everything around her in rapid succession.

When the song changes and a hand finds her hip, Kit opens her eyes and turns to meet the man's gaze. He is middle aged and leering. Kit grabs him by the wrist and jerks his hand away, not smiling. "No thank you."

"Oh, come on sweetheart," he yells over the music. "Lighten up."

"No thank you."

"Hey, you don't have to worry," he holds up his wallet and smirks. "I'm good for it."

Kit's eyes widen and she feels her mouth fill with saliva. She yanks the man's arm into an uncomfortable angle. "I'm just here to dance."

When he lets out a pained noise, she releases and storms away. Now, she really takes in her surroundings. The women dance and wait for the men to approach, to voice an interest. The women serve the men drinks. The women have… this is a brothel.

Kit is wearing civies. She is wearing pants, unlike the women who are basically either decoration or product in this lavishly decorated room. They are in short skirts or shorts, some in a unitard like outfit. But she doesn't need to see it to know that their tattoos match hers.

This is the last place she wants to be. The music is suddenly deafening, the heat sweltering. The lights are too bright, but somehow do not stop the oppressiveness, the abyss that the darkness inspires. Breath feels difficult, she has to make a conscious effort to keep herself from shivering. There's too much going on, too much stimulus. She knows of places like this, so she's never really been in one. Places where pleasure girls are sent to live and take in different patrons each night, sometimes more than one. So Kit, alert and prepared, makes her way through moving bodies to get to the door.

A familiar voice pulls her from her goal. A quick laugh and then a gentle flirtation. Kit turns her head and sees… a shot of long red hair and a beautiful, pale face.

"Poppy?" it was supposed to be a whisper, a soft word only heard by herself. But then this girl, painted and dressed to look like a woman, turns her face to the side and meets her gaze.

The girl she knew as Poppy holds her gaze when she declines the gentleman's offer. He is insistent, she has to push him away physically to get away from his grip. There is barely any force behind the contact, but Kit knows that she will be reprimanded for the action later. When he turns to pursue her, Kit steps forward.

"Boss says he needs you with the VIPs." She says it loudly enough that the man hears and takes a step back. Kit let's her eyes flicker to him, briefly. Disgust fills her, he is not an ugly man but the look in his eyes, she feels dirty. "Another girl will be provided for you."

The man nods, his eyes intent on her face. She wonders, with sickness in her stomach, if he somehow recognizes her from… from so long ago. And her body is the most covered in the club right now, but that doesn't mean that he won't try to observe every ample, to appraise the worth of her assets and her face. She wants to rip his eyes out, wants to tear fingernails into his flesh.

Instead she follows Poppy, who now pulls her away into a secluded corner by her arm. It is a small measure of privacy, but it's enough for Poppy, who throws her arms around her and into a tight embrace. "Lolly. Lolly, I'm so happy to see you."

It's too much. This is all too much. Too much, too many memories, and she throws her arms around the other woman's shoulders and really really fights the urge to cry. "Poppy, what are you doing here?"

Poppy had been only three years older than Kit back at the Markets. She was a popular prospect despite her youth, because even from such a young age she was remarkably beautiful, with a full mouth, sharp cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and the distinctive blood red hair that fell down her back in deep curls. Kit remembered, even her youth, thinking that the girl was beautiful.

 _I owe you for so much_. And though Kit cannot voice the sentiment, she means it. Because she had been trouble, real trouble, back in the Market, fighting and resisting and tempting the men to just sell her to one of the frequent clients who went through girls like napkins. If it wasn't for Poppy, using her charms at such a young age to convince the men to leave her alone, Kit is certain she would be dead.

"This is where I work," Poppy pulled back slightly to look at her face and laughed, laughed despite the tears pooling in her eyes, making her mascara run. Her lips were painted red like her hair and Kit found herself distracted by their moment. "Look at you. You've grown so much."

Poppy had been almost like a sister to Kit. A protector, definitely, who did more than make sure no one else hurt her. Poppy forced Kit to eat, to sleep, to survive. She forced Kit not to hurt herself, because in the darkness of the night after receiving instructions for what she might one day do, Kit had on more than one occasion tried to end it all. And Poppy, with teary words and firm hands, had kept her from meeting such a fate.

"You can't stay here," Kit refuses to leave her behind, not now, not this time. "I won't let you."

The smile becomes sadder, more forced. "They bought me Lolly. It's not like I can leave." One of her hands, long fingered and elegant, nails painted red as well, goes to a ribbon around her throat. She pulls it gently to reveal a red mark on her neck. A tracker maybe. A device meant to incapacitate her, in case of resistance. Someone would have to have the switch….

"Where are the dressing rooms?"

"What?" Poppy demands, face etched with concern.

"I can't stay here dressed like this. Someone's bound to notice. I need, I need time. Which means I need different clothes."

Poppy turns her gaze around the room and nods, taking her by the hand and moving her into one of the halls. The music follows them up a flight of well lit stairs, into a dressing room. Kit receives odd looks from girls who do not recognize her, but no one is particularly interested. No one challenges her presence there. Maybe new faces aren't too uncommon here.

She removes her civies, takes her hair out of its tail and swoops it over one shoulder. In the mirror she can see Poppy staring at her, mostly at her face but some glances given to her body. She had been less developed when last they met, barely into her adolescence. Poppy was curious.

"Those underclothes won't work. You'll need something more…"

"I don't plan on selling myself." But she strips naked still and allows Poppy to give her underclothes more akin to lingerie, impractically laces articles that push her flesh into more aesthetically pleasing positions.

"Then why are you here?" Poppy sorts through racks of clothing, looking for something for Kit to wear, assisting without really knowing why. Kit takes a moment to look at her face. In the bright lights her makeup looks more cakish. It isn't to cover age, Poppy is less than twenty five years of age, this Kit knows. The only other thing she can think of is bruises.

"I'm going to get you out of here. All of you."

"How?"

Kit watches her eyes go wide and smiles. This girl painted to look like a woman wants freedom. She wants to be able to walk about without living for the pleasure of another. But what would she do with that freedom, it's a frightening prospect. She's afraid to want it, afraid to want the unknown.

"The same way I did." Kit turns back to the mirror and reaches for makeup. Her hand shakes when she applies it, the lipstick smears until Poppy, with well trained hands, applies it for her. Her face is painted, red lips like Poppy's and dark eyes. "He doesn't have the advantage of that chip over me. I can take it from him."

"He doesn't know you."

"I know."

"He buys the girl himself. If he sends someone to scout for him, he makes sure they send images of her from every angle."

"I'm sure."

"He won't just let you stay here."

"I know. That's why he'll want to see me immediately."

Poppy stares at her, watches her fix her hair again before helping her clip the thick curls to the side. "What do you plan on doing?"

Kit stares at her face in the mirror. So this is what she would be? It's an improvement in some ways, but now it's just a mask. It isn't her.

"I'm going to kill him."

Hux has another night of restless sleep before waking early to go back to his duties. There was still no word from Kit, even Phasma had not heard from her. He spends some time on the Bridge, in part because his presence is needed and in part because the constant activity is an even better distraction. Kit is not seen in the halls, not on the Bridge, but when he returns to his office there is a beep on his comm.

The base is expecting a visitor.

Hux runs his fingers through his hair and prepares to see an old friend.


	12. Chapter 12

reread this thing and really don't like it.

Thinking about a rewrite.

Maybe i'll think better of it in the morning but... I feel like i neglected Hux's role as general and totally glossed over Kit's ability to be cool and independent on her own. I want to pay more attention to the surrounding world in relation to their developing relationship.

Like i said, this might just be me procrastinating and i might change my mind in the morning...

This is why i cannot write novels.


	13. Chapter 13

**Dear people,**

 **yeah, i think im going to rewrite this. I really like the stories and the characters (LIke obviously i love Kit. Like Yes baby, go kit). And really, thank you to the followers and the favoriters and the reviewers, that really helped boost my writer confidence. But i feel like there's more i couldve done, so i think i am going to rewrite. Hopefully the chapters will be quicker (Because i already did a lot of plot) just with more elaboration.**

 **Thanks a lot you guys. Also, im sorry these last two chapters have been my drunk or tired ramblings.**

 **I'm going to post a kit/ hux make up scene i've been saving, because you people are great**

 **Also. literally any requests for this fic, seriously, super open. Because i have really bad writers block all the time. Never deny a guest even the most ridiculous request.**

 **Ok, enough of my weirdness. I'm rewriting but here is the last bit i wrote.**

 **Enjoy**

Grand Admiral Rae Sloane is no longer young, but she carries the age well. The lines on her face are fine, unlike the grooves that run deep on the faces of men and women far younger. Her spine is still straight, not bowed beneath the weight of years, and her body still shapely, as if she continued to use training facilities and gyms. The black hair that, today, she allows to trail down her back in a tail beneath her cap, is shot with grey. It is the greatest testimony Hux can readily see to her many years of experience.

Hux remembers seeing her for the first time, when he was still a child, escorting he and his father from a short lived uprising on Arkanis. She had seemed impossibly tall them, though today he towers over her, and her dark face held an exotic beauty that he, in his sheltered life, had not encountered before. Immediately afterwards he had been deposited in the Academy, but he still remembers the firm hand she had placed in his shoulder to steady him when the ship took off. He remembers seeing her again, years later, offering an alliance of some sort. He would protect her if she would protect him.

Today, though the two rarely ever speak, that alliance has bloomed into something akin to friendship. Not that he didn't think she would stab him if she had to, if it meant her survival, but at least she would do it herself and at least it wouldn't be a stab in the back. Sloane would respect him enough to look him in the eyes when she delivered that final blow.

Today, when he approaches her, she gives him an appraising look that makes Hux stand a little straighter. Under such attention, he wants to look his best.

"General." She nods.

"Grand Admiral," he returns.

A small smile breaks on her face, softening her features and giving a glimpse into the beauty she must have held, and still in many ways, retained in her youth. Hux smirked back and gestured with his chin for her to follow him. "Hoe have you been?"

"I'm getting old, General. It's not very easy for me to jump all over the globe like I did in my youth."

He chuckles at that, shaking his head. "I doubt that, Grand Admiral. But if it truly is so difficult, I'm guessing that means you have good reason to have made the journey hear to Mandalore. What is it?"

"I've received indication that your commander, Kylo Ren, has taken one of our ships on a mission."

"Yes, I've heard. The Supreme Leader must have given him clearance. I didn't know he had left and I'm not certain of where he has gone."

"He's not why I'm here," Sloane continues. Hux can see her gaze traveling, now appraising the base. "I believe too many resources are being directed to this… map mission. I want you to request, from the Supreme Leader that you be, instead, a part of the offensive."

"The Supreme Leader has insisted that my resources be used here to-"

"To what? Follow after the whims of an overgrown child? We do not need a map to stop the Resistance. We do not need the death of a single man who has already fled. What we need are troops on the ground, strategic decisions."

'The Green Lantern, 7 o'clock. Wear your civies.'

It's Kit's hand, he knows it well from the scribbles. The letters connect, almost cursive, in rushed cramped lettering.

He waits. He waits until 6 o'clock, earlier than when he usually ends for the day, to return to his rooms and put on what few civilian clothes he owns. Simple clothing, far from casual. He wants an overcoat, likes the way it builds his form, but can find none that don't bear the First Order Insignia. It isn't until after nearly ten minutes of digging that he finds a long blue overcoat among Kit's things, the one that she had found back in his ancestral home.

Hux slipped the coat on, the splash of color odd and awkward and drawing too many eyes as he left the base, walking down the halls and past various officers. In the night he feared the bright color would be a beacon, attracting too much attention, but no one seemed to notice him as he moved out in the streets. He was just another man.

He finds the Green Lantern. It looks like a bar, or maybe a club. Different from both the Duchess and the Riz, the ambiance was much calmer. There was soft music in the background, Hux could see that it was one of the music machines that patrons could select a song from. Very few people were in the dimly lit room, most of them elderly. They greeted him briefly but kindly and Hux took a seat at the bar, waiting. When the bartender asked he ordered one drink, a bourbon from Mandalore, and sipped it slowly, all the while waiting and looking.

When 7 o'clock passes he gets nervous. When 7:10 passes he orders another drink for his nerves. At 7:12 the door opens and Hux's head snaps back to watch the entrance. To his disappointment it is more of the elderly, three men, but one of them holds the door open and gives a long lingering look to the person behind him.

Kit steps into the light, pushing hair off her face. She gives the old man a bright smile and a word of thanks before stepping into the bar and meeting Hux's eye. It is brief and, almost as if she did not see him, she continues to look around the room, at each individual face. He is confused by this, but takes advantage of the moment to look at her. The jacket she wears is short and fitted, dark in color. The dress she wears is a dark purple that stops at her knees, he follows the long lines of her legs. The fabric dances outwards as if she was wearing some sort of short petticoat beneath the skirt, it makes every movement seem almost playful. She doesn't greet him, merely meanders over to the stool beside him and looks around as if she wasn't there for him. He doesn't stand, doesn't go to her, because this is uncharted territory. They are out in public together. They argued only last night. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't like it.

"Excuse me sir," she asked, hand on the counter. "You haven't seen another man, have you? Tall, serious expression? Tired looking?"

Words take a moment to form on his mouth, so instead he shakes his head. "No. No, miss, I haven't."

"Well," she smiles, sighing a little. "Looks like I've been stood up… Again."

"Oh." What is going on?

She sways a bit, he watches the skirt swirl. "Mind if I take this seat?"

His eyes widen, he shakes his head, downing the last of what he has decided will be his last drink of the evening. "No. No, please stay."

The words sound too sincere for whatever form of play acting she has them participating in, but she removes her jacket all the same, fixing him with a pitying smile. The top of the dress is strappy, but simple in cut. His eyes trace over the cut on her collarbone and he is reminded of that night in the Cantina, the night that she wore that ridiculous face paint and that hideous dress and looked like a frightened deer with all those idiots swarming her like easy prey, like the last option. He wonders how he would respond now, to her receiving all that attention.

She would receive attention now, he thinks, and not just that of idiots who had already been rejected and were hoping for a short pursuit. No, not tonight, when she had known to provide simple coloring around her eyes and lips, enough to accentuate her natural coloring without being overpowering or clownish. Not when she wore this dress so well, one that seemed better suited to her form. Not when she looked so… certain. Confident.

"I like it here," Kit smiles, pulling him from his reveries. "It's… quiet. Calm. Of course I love dancing and the Duchess is perfect for that but this, this is nice too."

He clears his throat and tries to put on some air of relaxation. "Yes. Yes this place is nice."

Awkward silence.

"You said you were stood up?"

"Yes," she nods, fingering the rim of a glass of water she'd requested from the bartender. "A co-worker. Not the first time."

"Should be the last time," he says, still a bit too strongly. Kit looks up at him, startled and a little amused. "I mean, he's an idiot… for standing you up." God he wants another drink. "You look beautiful, if it's any consolation."

"It is." She grins, taking a sip and swaying. "So what brings you here?"

Was he supposed to prepare a character of his own? Well that's a little unfair, to expect him to improvise a persona without ample warning. But she is looking at him expectantly and he opens his mouth to allow words to fall out. "Just needed to get away for a bit. Heard about this place from a … a dear friend."

Kit pauses at those last words and looks down, suppressing a smile. He wants to take her chin in his hand and turn her face upwards, allow him to see it, but that kind of contact is not accepted among strangers. He puts his hand in his pockets instead. "Is that dear friend coming?"

"No."

"Well then, I guess you can be my date tonight? And I'll be yours."

He nods. "Sounds fine to me."

Her eyes flicker to the empty tumbler in his hand. "Do you want another drink?"

"No. No, I do not. Thank you."

"Needed to get away for a while, huh?," she leans forward by her elbows, looks around the room. The elderly man who held the door open for her smiles warmly when their eyes meet. "Sounds like stress."

He nods. "I suppose you could say that."

"Job?"

He gives her a more direct look this time, almost void of their earlier playfulness. He has not forgotten her actions these past few days, the way that she practically goaded him into saying idiotic words, as if she wanted him to try to hurt her. "Among other things."

"Well then. Let's just relax for a bit, hm?"

They never ask for each other's names. That is, perhaps, their biggest mistake. Other than that, Kit and Hux both do a fine job of making it seem as though they are simply strangers who stumbled upon one another in a random place. They ask one another questions, but neither ask any that are too personal and that are not easy to formulate some story that is one part lies and one part truth. When she asks about his job he says management. When he asks where she's from she responds with "Around. I've travelled a bit, but nowhere you would find interesting."

At some point in the night Kit fishes a deck of cards out of her jacket and offers to play him in a game.

"I'm terrible," she smirks, sliding the cards from the box. "But I was thinking maybe I could teach you a few games."

"What do I get if I win?" he asks, already reaching to shuffle the deck.

Kit watches the movements of his hands and smirks. "What do you want?"

"A kiss."

Her eyebrow shoots up. "A single kiss?"

"A kiss is all I ask."

"That's rather forward, isn't it?"

"Perhaps. But I'd rather ask and you refuse than never have asked and wonder."

"Then I accept."

They decide on slay, because they aren't the right cards for sabacc. She places four cards between them, then divides the rest into separate hands of four. As they try to get four of a kind for each hand, Kit carries on casual conversation that Hux thinks is meant to be a distraction.

"I like places like this," she mutters, picking up one of hands to trade a seven for the six he just put down. He curses internally. "There's a… I don't know I feel like I could do anything here because no one would recognize me. No one knows me and they probably wouldn't recognize me if they saw me again."

"Anonymity?" Hux suggests, picking up a three from the center.

"Yes. Yes that exactly. You see, I could say anything to you right now. And you could say anything to me, because we're strangers and there's no pressure about what you might think of me later or what you might regret after. No consequences."

Hux drags his tongue over his teeth and thinks this over. So this is her game, to play at strangers in the hope of finding honesty.

It's a little mad.

"You see, I can tell you about my childhood."

Hux's eyes flash at that, peering into a face that is not paying him any mind, instead focusing an intense gaze on her cards. Of course he wanted to know about her past, some morbid curiousity that he has nursed. Perhaps, by knowing it, he could find the best way to fix those problems. But he didn't want to hear it like this. Not in a dive bar while she's pretending not to know him. Not with her pretending it was natural.

"I had a domineering family. Literally controlled every aspect of my life. From when I woke up to when I went to sleep, nothing was my choice. Even when I started dating."

No, definitely not like this. Not with her romanticizing the tale of her abuse.

"I think that's why I stayed in the relationship as long as I did. Because I was used to, in some way, being controlled. And I thought it was natural. The pressure and the… the violence. When I ended it, nothing mattered to me more than my freedom. Than my ability to do as I pleased when I pleased. Unfortunately, it's made me a bit shit at relationships because most people expect some sort of back and forth and I've never been really good at that. It feels a little bit like a trap."

This is nothing that He doesn't already know, but he still feels something when hearing her say it. Hux hasn't made a move since she began talking. Now, his fingers are bending the cards as he tries to hold onto them to maintain some level of self-control. It's glaringly obvious, he thinks, why she values her independence. Why she didn't think to contact him to tell him of her movements, after so long of living on her own.

What he does not understand is why she seemed to want him to hurt her.

"You think it's pathetic, don't you?"

He shakes his head quickly, this time he is the one avoiding her gaze. "No. No, I don't. I know something about it. About control."

He cannot continue. He cannot go on to tell her that he was like the men who had hurt her, men who valued control and took pride in being able to exert their authority over others.

He loses twice. After the first rapid loss he demands they play again, double or nothing, and Kit concedes, only to beat him again just as quickly. Kit laughs, she's tried teaching him slay before and he's never been able to keep up with the quick pacing of the game, too many hands, too much movement. It's no wonder this is the game she chooses to defeat him.

"Okay, fine. Take your winnings," he mumbles, grumpy, into the rim of a glass.

"I want you to answer a question honestly."

He leans back to look at her fully. It is rare that he has seen her this relaxed in public, face flushed and posture not as stiff. He likes it.

He doesn't realize that she is looking at him in much the same way. His spine is not ramrod straight, face not set in disdain. What she likes best is the red shot of hair that is now in a slight disarray from him pushing his fingers through it one too many times.

"Alright Stranger. Do your worst." He responds, wiping his lips.

"If you could leave behind everything right now, what would you do?"

Hux contemplates this for a moment. Would he get a boat and sail away? Would he buy land and reside among nature? What would Hux do?

It takes him a moment to register the fact that he has thought of this before, considered the possibility of what he would do if he ever decided to wash his hands of the First Order.

"I think I would buy a… a patch of land. In the forest and live there."

"There's no tech in the woods." It's another slip up, Kit marking this small hink in his plans, because she knows how he despises settings that aren't completely in his control. How would he survive in the wilderness?

"I'm well aware. It'd … relaxing I think."

"I don't see you as a nature boy. What would you do? Farm? Hunt?"

"I don't know. It's an idea, not a plan." He sits up straighter and claps his hands. "Alright. You get one more question."

"No," Kit shakes her head and places a hand on his arm. It's the first physical contact either of them has made the entire night. "My next demand is that you ask me a question."

Hux pauses at this and looks her in the face. It's a shift in mood, far from dramatic, but enough to take away from them playing at strangers. "Anything?"

"Yes."

"And you'd answer honestly?"

She nods, shifting somewhat closer. And he stares at her hand on his arm before speaking. "Are you happy with me?"

Kit's hand tightens on his arm and he watches the content, and somewhat nervous look on her face become one of incredulity and soft annoyance. "That doesn't count."

"Why not?" he demands, confused.

"Because it's… well, it's idiotic for one. Of course I'm happy with you, if I wasn't I'd have left by now. And it…. You're ruining the game. Now… ask something else."

There is a pause again, one that Kit doesn't take well. She shifts in her seat and gives him overtly impatient glances. Finally, Hux speaks again. "What would you change?"

She understands what he means and contemplates it. What would she change about her life, about the course of events that led her up to this moment? "My… my owner. I would change how… I would have done it sooner. Left him."

He stares at her face as she reaches for his tumbler, turning the heavy glass over in her hands as a way to distract herself. She doesn't choose to save her parents. Instead, Hux realizes, Kit chose to alter something that had been within her control, had perhaps been something she wanted, but had not done herself. It is a simple change, he thinks, but something that matters to her. He wonders what he would have said, if she had asked that same question of him.

She's peering into the glass, watching the movements of the last drops of alcohol at the bottom. And he watches this for a moment before grabbing the cards to shuffle, just in case she wants to play again. Kit looks up at him, mid shuffle, and he waits for her to speak.

A soft smile paints her lips and she holds out the cup to him. "I can read your fortune in this."

The words, random and completely ridiculous, pull a startled laugh from him. "I'm sorry?"

"You know? Past, present, future. Your fortune."

"And where did you pick up that particular skill?"

"Oh, it was years ago."

"I'm sure," he turns his body completely to her. "Alright. What do you see? That is Mandalorian bourbon and," he leans forward conspiratorially "I must say it's a poor one. I'm guessing you see sadness and a… a burning sensation" Kit punches his arm and he laughs, stuttering through the last words.

"I see," she coughs into her hand, disguising laughter of her own. "I see, a great struggle. And…" she turns the cup in her hand and tilts her head to the side, squinting as if she's trying to see through an illusion. Hux can imagine her as one of the charlatans, tricking the unsuspecting from their hard earned money. "A great struggle and you, you serve a great purpose."

"I bet you say that to everyone."

"No! No no no no, of course not. But it also says that you will… meet a difficult choice soon. And that to decide you will have to look beyond your usual paths."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know," She turns the tumbler again. "I'm just a diviner. Hmmm. It looks as if your past was hazy, and sad. Difficult. And your present is full of chaos and decisions and adversaries." She looks up at him again and gives him a slight smile. "I guess you were downplaying the stressful job."

"Perhaps a bit." He concedes.

"Well. Perhaps you'll be pleased to know that your future, at least," she meets his gaze and smiles warmly. "looks bright."

"You can tell all that from a few drops of cheap bourbon?"

"You think this is impressive? Imagine what I could read on your hands." And then Kit, very casually, slides her hand into his and holds it. The contact is warm, Hux waits only a moment before curling his fingers around hers.

"Why were you alone tonight?" she asks, not releasing his hand.

"I'm a very busy man," he replies briskly. Behind Kit he can see an older couple dancing. Their movements are slow, more swaying than anything. They look peaceful and something in that makes Hux decide to be more honest. "I… I'm not very good at relationships. I don't like people. And I have a, a temper. I don't like feeling… powerless. And sometimes I say… I do things… why were you stood up?'

"Because I'm not very good at these either. That's why I'm blabbering secrets to a stranger."

There is a long moment of silence, comfortable. Hux feels her thumb stroke over the back of his hand. "Are you reading it now?"

"No. Just holding it because I want to."

He lets the corner of his lips twitch. "That's rather forward."

"Maybe it is."

"Does this mean I can kiss you?"

Kit leans forward, using his arm as balance. "Yes. If you…" she pulls back just as he seems to surge forward. "…steal that man's hat."

Hux's blinks three times, registering her words. "What?"

She looks somewhere behind him and nods at someone, causing him to turn to follow her gaze. "Steal that man's hat and I'll give you that kiss."

It's the old man that held the door open for her. Hux watches as the man smiles and shares words with is two friends. How could he discretely remove a hat from the man's head? The answer is, he cannot. And maybe it is the relief that Kit has not run off, maybe it is the two drinks he just had. But Hux moves to whisper in her ear "Wait for me by the door."

Kit watches him stand up and pretend to stumble over to the men's booth. He's a bit too dramatic in his motions, but someone who did not know him might think that he was drunk. He falls forward, nearly landing on top of the targeted man. Instead he steadies himself on the back of the chair and laughs a bit too loudly, offering some form of apology or explanation. They exchange words, brief, before Hux snatches the hat from the man's head and sprints away, long limbs thrown into motion. Kit sees him coming and sprints away first, holding the door open for him and following him into the night. There is the sound of discord behind them, which quickly dissipates with distance and, perhaps, no one wanting to make a fuss over a hat.

They come to a stop on some stretch of road and catch their breath. Kit has his overcoat in her hands, he moves to put it on but feels something heavy hit his leg. In the pocket is the tumbler he'd been drinking from. "Did you steal this?" he pants a little at the end.

She nods, straightening her hair. "Yup. A memento."

She wants to remember this night. Hux hears the words and smiles, large and awkward on his thin face.

"Should we go back to the base?" She asks, slipping the hat he'd stolen on her head. He wants to tell her to tuck it in her jacket, someone might recognize it, but they are blocks away and he doubts anyone cares that much.

"No. Not yet. It's still early. Let's walk a bit."

So Kit tucks her hands into her jacket pockets and walks with Hux down the road. It's a metropolitan area, but they come across patches of grass and groves of trees, meant for parks she thinks. She likes trees, gazes at the long branches as they stretch towards the sky. And Hux watches her, because there are things he wants to ask but hasn't quite built up the courage for.

"What are you thinking?" She asks, moving under a streetlight. Their silhouettes are long and dramatic on the pavement.

"What on earth possessed you to try to make me angry?"

She smirks, it feels bitter. "Anger… anger is usually honest. You weren't giving me anything and I …. I wanted you back, Tidge."

"I thought you were looking for an excuse to leave me."

She contemplates this and nods. "Yes. Maybe that too."

There is a long stretch of silence. They pass a small group on the street, fresh from a club and smelling of sweat and energy. Hux's arm, at the sight of them, goes around her shoulder to pull her close. She rolls her eyes at this gesture and when the group passes them by, reaches one of her hands to hold his.

"The First Order is your home. You thrive here. But I… I'm not good at fixed spaces."

"We travel all over the globe."

"Yes. But it's not the same."

They keep walking. And Hux feels, more and more, like this is a goodbye. "I didn't mean what I said Kit. You have to know that."

The bitterness leaves her smile, but it is replaced with sadness. "I know, Hux. But we… we really are strangers."

He scoffs at that, turning her chin to face him with his free hand. "We had a fight. Let's not be overdramatic."

"Think about it. If anyone was to ask you something about my life, you would not really be able to answer. If someone asked me about yours, I would know nearly nothing."

"That's not true."

"I don't know about your family, other than that your father is a cunt and your mother committed suicide. I don't know about your childhood, except that you went to that awful Academy and …" she won't bring up the incident. Not now. "And you know little about my past other than that I have a tattoo and wore a mask and know some people in Kessel." She laughs and it sounds wet. Hux wonders if she might cry. "We fuck. God, we live together and know so little about each other."

Hux allows a silence to fall, allows Kit the chance to listen to the night air, the sound of bugs and footsteps and muffled voices in the distance. He allows this because he does know her, and he knows she needs it.

"I could tell you the birth states of nearly everyone on my ship. I could tell you their life histories, their parents and their academic charts and whatever remarkable event happened in their lives. Could pull it all up on a file. If someone asked me a question about them, I'd be able to carry on a lovely conversation with details that mean nothing," Hux stops walking because as he is talking, he is realizing things, voicing them out loud and finally understanding them. "I don't care about your past Kit. If you want to share it with me, fine, I want to hear it. I want to be there for you. But I don't need every little detail of your life, just like you don't need mine, because us now and here is enough." He turns her to him, turns her so that his eyes can adjust in the darkness to make out her face. "There's more to knowing someone than life events or stories. I know you know me. I know you do because … because if I'm in a bad mood you know how to calm me down or how to just leave me alone to deal with it. You know that sometimes, when it rains, my shoulder acts up because you rub it for me at the end of the day and I don't have to ask. You know me because… God woman, we're not files. It's not something you can quantify. It's not something you can just explain in words." He grabs her shoulders and pulls her closer to him. "You know me because you knew exactly what words to write on those pages to get a rise out of me. You paid attention and you cared and maybe you used it against me, but you knew it because you cared about me. Just like you cared when I saw that stupid statue or when I was killing myself for that…. Project of mine. And I know you, because I know exactly what words would have hurt you as well."

"How romantic." She remarks, sarcasm in every syllable, and Hux is certain now that he is getting to her.

"Maybe it's not exactly romantic, but it's honest. I know you like to walk in the rain. I know not to offer you alcohol, because you won't drink it. And I know that sometimes… like that night outside the Riz… sometimes you just want me to hold you. And I should have done it, I should have… Kit you made me so angry."

"I know."

"No. I don't think you do. But I couldn't…. I couldn't show it. Because I would say something stupid and you… I'm not an idiot Kit."

"We need to be honest with each other."

"Fine. I want to know where you're going, because I want to make sure you're safe."

"I don't want to have to report my actions to you because I like my freedom."

"I nearly had a heart attack when you weren't in bed last night."

"I like walking at night and I needed to clear my head… I'm waiting for the day you get bored of me."

He shakes his head. "That's not going to happen."

"How do you know? There's other women, you know. Like that woman and and Mina who would give their left hands for a chance with you."

"I don't want them."

"Now, you don't. But in a week or a month or …"

"I don't want them because they're not you." He places the arm around her shoulder and keeps moving. He wants to walk again. The motion feels good. "Do you know what I first noticed when I saw you?"

"No," she lies, already expecting the answer.

"Your hands twitching. And I kept thinking that this woman was going to stab me in the neck somehow. Everyone else was buzzing about that tattoo on your thigh. Phasma, obviously Matrius. That stupid tattoo was all they seemed to care about, no one seemed to remember that you were under suspicion of treason and espionage. Do you know when I first realized I wanted to kiss you?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Hux can see her shake her head, but he's on a roll now and he doesn't think her response would have made much of a difference.

"That night on Arkanis. Now, I must admit that I didn't like that Phasma chose you as her assistant. Maybe it was the treason thing, maybe I already knew that I would want you, felt that stupid attraction somewhere. But it was when you came into the house-"

"Tidge, I think you're drunk."

"I'm not. I'm not, I promise. Two drinks isn't enough to… I never saw the sun much as a child, you saw Arkanis. But when I saw you it was like… you were so happy and weightless it was like watching a storm finally pass and I never… I wanted. I'm a well-travelled man Kit, but I never knew something could be so bright."

Kit wants to speak. She wants to tell him to shut up and that he's being stupid or irrational or dishonest. There's a lot of words she'd like to say.  
Instead she listens. Because it's to be told, even if it's a lie, what you want to hear.

"Maybe you're afraid one day I'll grow bored of you. To be fair, that was the plan. A failed plan. If it helps, I fear the same thing from you."

Kit laughs. Laughs and clutches his arm tighter and feels herself collapse. "I don't like confrontation. But I do like fighting. Is that strange?"

"No. I think it makes sense, actually. And fighting is healthy in a relationship, if done correctly. Makes sure there's understanding on both sides."

"And what is there to understand between us, Tidge?"

"We're both terrible at this. But getting better, I think. Come on. Let's go find somewhere to eat."

It isn't exactly a reconciliation, but they do both feel better. If Kit is honest, the night turned out better than she expected. She was expecting a goodbye, a pretty one or an ugly one she wasn't certain. She wasn't expecting it to fix anything, because there are no easy solutions and she knows enough about them both to know that they are terrible with their emotions. But it feels like a step in the right direction.

He curls up behind her that night, a firm grip that let's her know he has missed her. A firm grip that reaffirms his fears, he is afraid she will slip away.

"I'm here," she whispers, patting his hand and moving back to fill the space between them.

The next morning he kisses her cheek when he leaves, somewhat hesitantly because he doesn't know how it will be received. She wraps her arms around him and leans into the contact, warm and kind. "I'll see you tonight, ok?"

He nods, appreciating the reassurance. She will be here tonight. Tomorrow is an issue for later.

It isn't long into the day when an alert flashes on his comm. The troops he requested have arrived.

He goes to the landing pads to greet them as they emerge from the transports. Each are indistinguishable in their armor. Each stand at attention, falling into their ranks in perfect lines. The pattern, the order they know so well. It's a satisfying sight for Hux.

"You'll have a chance to test them out soon enough." It is Kylo Ren, coming from somewhere behind him, hoping to ruin his day.

"What now?"

"I know where to find Skywalker."

Hux jumps internally, surprised that the oaf has had so much success in such a short time. Only a few days. "Where?"

"We'll find what we need." He's already walking away.

"Where?"

"On Jakku."

Kit is not apart of the events on Jakku. She is not with Phasma and her band of Stormtroopers when they tear through villages in search of an old man. She is not trained for combat, would be useless in the heavy, bulky armor that the Stormtroopers wear. Despite this she offers to follow Phasma into the field, offers to be her backup. Phasma politely informs her that that would not be wise and the scowling look Hix gives her later informs her that he is not pleased. She avoids him on the Bridge in the hours that follow.

She doesn't like not being useful somehow, it makes her restless. So there is an odd sort of relief when Phasma pushes a red stained Trooper in front of her and tells her to check his weapon for malfunctions.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Kit asks, looking at the blaster. There is no sign of outward damage, but there could be some sort of internal issue keeping it from functioning properly.

"If there is, send it to repairs. If there isn't," Phasma gestures to the Stormtrooper, "issue a demand to have FN-2187 sent to Reconditioning."

Kit starts at that. Reconditioning is no simple matter, she knows this, and it is not a command that is (usually) given casually. There are usually other procedures and punishments to be tried before resorting to such measures.

'What have you done?' She wonders, as the Trooper follows her to a makeshift workbench. She sits on a stool, the Stormtrooper sitting himself stiffly across from her.

Kit first examines the surface of the weapon. It appears in pristine condition, a few scratches but nothing out of the ordinary. It does not appear jammed. She begins to take a part the individual peices, tracing over the delicate interior with careful eyes and fingertips to search for a problem. Again, nothing seems awry. She is, however, distracted by the red streak that marrs the white surface of his mask.

"I didn't shoot," he blurts out suddenly and Kit is a little releived, because it gives her an excuse to look at him, rather than just regarding him in her mind's eye. "That's why she wants you to send me to reconditioning. There's nothing wrong with the blaster."

Kit stares into the masked face that does not turn to her. "Why didn't you shoot?" She whispers

There is a motion that resembles a shrug. "I didn't want to."

Kit stares at the red streak and hears the words behind the words. He hadn't wanted to shoot (he hadn't wanted to kill anyone). She feels uncomfortable about this, about talking to him. It would be more than frowned upon, it would be a reason to punish her too. But she is curious about this mentality, about his hesitant participation. As if it wasn't something he'd chosen for himself. Kit had always assumed that everyone here had a choice, had options like she had been offered.

She remembers the perfect line of students, realizes that they were being trained. There was no option for them, taken in their youth and raised for the positions they held. And she thinks that this must be the same for FN-2187.

"This... this was my first time in combat. It was a... a promotion I guess."

Kit finds the blaster's central coil with her fingers and pulls. It slides out of place , rendering the weapon useless. It is an almost thoughtless action, and that frightens her a little.

'I don't even know you,' she thinks.

"Its broken," she says aloud. The trooper jumps, turns his masked face to her. "The central coil, it wasn't in place. It happens a lot more often than you'd think, sometimes just by dropping it or shaking it a little." she makes a point of not looking at him. "You're lucky that it didn't backfire in you."

He hesitates and she understands. How can he trust her? "What now?"

"I will send it to maintenance. They will repair it." She moves past him, shaking a little. "You should return to your post, FN-2187."

She deposites the weapon at maintenance, breifly jokes with one of the technicians there. There is too much on her mind, however, and when there is a request for some repairs on a bot somewhere else on the Finalizer, Kit jumps to take it, eager for some form of distraction.

When she sees who is asking for aid, she knows that there will be no relief.

Matrius smiles broadly enough to split his face when he sees her. The peice of machinery she will be tending to, one of his instruments of torture, is on the fritz. It is intended to heat the victim without inflicting any damage, at least not to the skin. Prisonners often become dehydrated and suffer hallucinations. Its meant to disorient, to confuse the prisonner and weaken their resolve.

The prisonner in front of her looks sweat sheened and tired, but not broken.

This isn't like how Brisen had been tortured. That had been a bloody, brutal affair. This was a carefull, calculated effort. Something to get results without risking the loss of the source. She frowns, stepping past Matrius and looking at the machine. It takes her a few minutes to find the problem, the power source is sooty and hot with overuse.

"Brilliant," Matrius smirks, making the slight motion of a bow before her. She glares at him before replacing the battery and stepping away. To make sure this was really the problem she stays as Matrius attempts to use the machine again, averting hey eyes from the prisonner. He does not scream, but it takes only a few minutes for him to groan in pain and effort before Matrius turns off the machine and begins to question him.

Kit hears the beginnings of a pained groan when she slips out the door and runs into the hooded form of Kylo Ren.

She had been avoiding him since that day in the lockers. He looms over her, a dark cloud, and she resists the urge to shrink into the door when his hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her back into the room with him.

Matrius is dismissed, taking his machinery with him from the room with a somber expression. Kit lingers near the door when it closes, unsure of what she is supposed to do. She doesn't want to be here, not with him, espiecally not now. Not when the sight of him sends her mind buzzing with thoughts of that stupid trooper and that stupid blaster and what she had, for some elusive reason, been possessed to do less than an hour ago to benefit someone whose face she had never even seen.

Kit doesn't have much experience in altruism.

She doesn't trust that he cannot slide into her mind. Or that she, in a frazzled state, cannot be heared by him. It is, however, quickly evident that she is not the focus of his attention. He is speaking to the prisonner, a man who is all tired eyes and cocky smile and snide comments and she really just wants to leave. She doesn't want to see what happens next.

There is a flicker of motion from Kylo and the man is jerking backwards, eyes fixed towards the ceiling. He releases a thick groan and his throat bobs with effort.

Kit knows why Kylo brought her here, brought her to see what he is capable of. And she shudders at the thought of what will happen when he turns himself to her. When he finds a way to crack her like a nut and flesh out the contents of her mind.

He wips himself out of the room after dragging pained words from the man's mouth, a certain amount of swagger in his steps. She turns her gaze back to the man, still bound, this time with his dark hair wet with sweat and his face pale with strain. His head lolls forward, as if he cannot manage to keep it up.

Kit takes slow steps forward and dabs the sweat from his brow, the blood from the side of his mouth. She smooths the hair from his forehead, tries to find a comfortable position for his head. He groans and she steps back, startled.

Less than three hours later he is gone, escaped with that Stormtrooper. There is a flurry of panic around the Finalizer, Hux does not return to their bed that night. Kit stands under Phasma's scrutiny when she demands the condition of FN-2187's blaster.

"It was damaged," Kit responds.

"Yes," the maintenance worker responds. "The coil was out of place. It happens sometimes but maybe..."

His voice trails off. Kit cringed internally, Phasma straightens with impatience. "What?"

"It may have been intentional," he finishes. "Something someone did on purpose."

Kit screams inside of her mind, waits for Phasma's head to snap in her direction. Waits for the inevitable flight and capture and execution before Hux washes his hands of the memory of her.

"He must have disabled it to avoid reconditioning," Phasma finishes, and though Kit lets go an internal sigh of relief, her body does not loosen from its tightly wound coil.

That night's sleep is surprisingly restful. She wakes to Hux, bleary eyed and stern mouth, pacing the floor. The early dawn peeks through the window, she sits up and asks him if he slept at all.

"No," he bites out, angry and distracted. "No, I needed to learn more about that damned... Traitor." He looks down at her, propped up and still half covered in blankets. "He worked in Sanitation Kit. Sanitation. The idiot was a garbage boy, how did he pull this off? What else did he take with him, what information? How did he escape with our key to the Resistance?"

"Because he was a garbage boy. And no one saw him as a threat." Like you don't see me.

Kit comes to the edge of the bed. "Come on. You need sleep."

"No. I can't, not now." He does, however, let her slide her hands up his chest, over his cheeks. The shirt is uncharacteristically wrinkled, a small smudge on his left sleeve, probably ink.

Kit tries to comfort him in the only sure fire way she knows, pressing her lips against his and holding him close. He leans into the contact, but pulls away after a moment.

"Not now," he grunts firmly, gripping her by the shoulders and forcing her away.

She is nervous and knows that she shouldn't be, he has refused her before, though rarely. He doesn't seem angry, not with her at least, just tired and stressed and annoyed. Perhaps something shows in her face, a reaction to the rejection, because his features twist with vague disdain.

"I don't have time for your wounded ego Kit," he remarks, moving to the closet to replace his shirt.

Kit bristles at that and climbs from the bed, pulling a container from underneath to find her uniform. "I don't think its mine that needs tending, General."

She can't see him, but she can hear the snap of a hanger falling into place after a rough hand yanks a garment from it. He storms into the room, feigning nonchalance, and makes a point of not looking at her when he buttons up to his collar.

"And what does that mean, Kit?" He demands, voice tight.

She shrugs on her own shirt. "Nothing. Just that the Stormtrooper program worked well with clones, didn't it? Generations of loyalty. Now these naturally bred troops, weren't they your father's project?"

From her peripheral vision Kit can see the General's shoulders set. She is digging a hole, can feel it, but cannot stop. She is looking for a reaction, pushing and prodding for it, and that reaction is punishment. Something feel incomplete, unbalanced without it. She did something that would displease him. In the Market the keepers were quick with punishments, harsh blows that would teach without damaging the product. As Mouse, Kit had received many whallops in return for displeased clients. Even the few people who cared for her had not been hesitant to reprimand her when she did something they did not approve of, though with words not hands.

She almost wants him to use his hands. Wants him to strike her down, because Kit knows that her time on the Finalizer is coming to an end. That her time with him is coming to an end. And she wants him to show his cruelty again, just once, to make it easier to leave.

His hand is in her hair again, pulling her from distraction and forcing her to meet his eyes. "I do not know what is wrong with you," he breaths. "I only know that I will not indulge your petty games. I haven't the time."

Kit jerks from his grasp and frowns. "Neither do I."

He glares down at her a moment longer. "I think you'll stay here today."

"I think we both remembered how that went the last time," she snaps.

"Perhaps this time I'll tie you to the bed," he threatens, towering above her.

"You can try," she challenges, and immediately regrets the gleam in his eyes. "Hux I-"

With one motion Kit is being pushed back on the bed. She watches as he bends over, grasping her belt in his hand, before scrambling backwards to escape. He follows her, lounging onto the bed to trap her beneath his weight. She shrieks, pushes against him with both hands, but he quickly grabs her wrists and holds them above her head.

"What is wrong with you," he all but growls in her ear. "Why are you trying with me today?"

"Let go of me."

"Oh no darling. You wanted my attention. Now you've got it."

She can feel the leather wrapping around her wrists, tightening to bite into the skin. Hux looms above her, face cloaked in shadows, and Kit bites down on the feeling of bile in her throat.

"Hux, get off," she snaps, feeling the weight of panic in her stomach. The belt tightens and Kit hears the beginning of his response before shouting "Get off!"

Her voice sounds watery and tight and she hates herself for that. Hates that she knows Hux heard it and that this may mean a slew of questions that she doesn't want to deal with. He pulls back quickly, releasing her wrists but not undoing his binding. Kit knows that she could be free within a minute. Instead she takes the moment to collect herself. The air comes out in heavy breaths, in and out and in and out before she can find a steady rhythm. She shuts her eyes and focuses on this (not to hold in tears, no, not that).

When she opens her eyes Hux is still standing above her. His face is twisted in anger, and she waits for that too. Waits for him to finish it. His breathing is heavy now too, she can hear it, can see the sharp rise and fall of his chest.

"Stand up," he snaps, and she remains still. It would be difficult to sit up with her arms in such an awkward positon, hard to find the leverage.

There is also the terrifying tightness in her stomach, the feeling of dread that has sunken into her.

He realizes the position he has put her into, that binding her so has limited her movements, and he tries to rectify the situation. When he bends forward to untie her, she recoils from him. It is only the slightest of movements, a sharp twitch in her features. But he felt it. So instead he pulls away, takes a step back, and waits for her to release herself. It takes a few moment, her wrists moving to loosen the binds enough for one of her hands to slip through.

She lays there for a moment, free and still feeling as if the walls are closing in on her.

"Look at me." He demands, and his voice is only marginally less harsh.

Kit pulls herself into a seated position and fixes her eyes somewhere on the wall behind him. And Hux, impatient and aggravated, grabs her chin with his hand and forces her eyes to his, watches panic become rage and feels relief because anger he knows she can handle, fear he does not.

Her hand lashes put like a snake, traps his wrist and yanks it away. She maintains the eye contact he finds so important and he uses his other hand to pull her to her feet.

"Do you honestly think I'd hurt you?"

She knows what he was trying to say. The sentiment he is trying to convey is a little ruined by the harshness of his tone, by the fact that he is crowding her space. It is still so hard to breath…

"Answer me."

She allows her lips to part. It is a long moment before words come out, as it hesitancy has trapped her tongue. "I don't know."

He searches her face, swallows hard, then pulls away from her. When she lets herself look at him again, she finds herself looking at his back.

"Are you frightened of me?" The question catches her off guard, she does not answer it. He turns to her, tie in his hand, and his eyes are hard, his lips a thin, white line. "Do I scare you Kit?"

"No. You don't."

"But me tying you to the bed? That scared you?"

She grabs for the blanket and wraps it tightly around her body. "I'll stay here today."

He throws his tie on the floor and runs a hand through his hair. There is a jagged breath released from his lips before the sudden motion, the sharp turn and his hands knocking over the contents of his dresser. She barely jumps at the sound.

"I'm trouble," Kit mutters. "It's what a woman once told me, she lived in the Market. I think she was an old whore herself. She never missed a chance to tell me I was trouble." Hux turns to her, stares at her face. She is not looking at him. "When I became trouble for the boy I was gifted too he tied me up and left me on the floor while he was in class. He never fucked me when I was tied up but he… displayed me… a few times."

He steps to her side. She rubs her eyes. He places a tentative hand on her shoulder and when she doesn't remove it he comes closer and pulls her into an awkward embrace.

"I don't like to feel trapped."

"Let me kill them."

She pulls away sharply, looks at him with wet eyes. "What?"

"Tell me. Who were they? Where did you live, what were their names?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. It matters to me."

Kit meets his eyes and places a hand on his cheek. "You hit me Hux."

That catches him off guard. He'd thought they were past that, he'd thought…"I said I was-"

"Yes. I remember. You hit me, but I don't think that you would hurt me. Not really. Even if you are an idiot sometimes."

He opens his mouth, perhaps in protest, but she silences him by kissing his cheek. "I will never tell you the name of the man who bought me. I will never tell you the names of the men who used me. It's not yours, its mine. Just like your time in the Academy is yours."

"What's your real name?"

She laughs. It is sharp and painful. "If I knew, I might actually tell you. But I don't remember it, Armitage. I barely remember the face of my mother or my father's voice. I don't remember the name they gave me."

His hand slides into hers. "My mother had black hair. That is all I remember."

"Did you play in it?"

He nods. "I think so." The other hand traces her face, the curve of her cheek, plump of her lips. "We're not alone now. Not anymore." There is a little hesitation, his eyes flick away from hers. "I can be your family Kit."

She throws her arms around his neck and decides that she really doesn't want to leave, not now, hates herself for setting in motion the events that allowed that malfunctioned trooper to escape.

"Stay with me. Today, let's not go out there. We can stay in here."

His lips flicker into the ghost of a smile. "I can't."

He finishes piecing together his uniform, the tie, the overcoat, the final buttons on his shirt. She barely moves from her place, he casts glances to her as he collects himself.

Before he leaves, Hux comes to stand beside her. He, uncertain, bends his head forward, presses a kiss against her forehead. She meets his gaze, holds it, and he is forced to look away first.

He is not surprised when, later that day, he sees her on the bridge. She is helping others, clearing out the pieces of the wrecked ships that the damned traitor and the prisoner destroyed. He watches her, is thoroughly distracted by her presence, until Kylo Ren makes his presence known.

Kylo is a sarcastic man, though the garbling static of his vocoder covers most of his irksome tone. He makes snide comments, some not too dissimilar to those made by Kit not an hour earlier. The reminder of her floods him with sentiments, some he's familiar with ( _annoyance, irritation, anger, fatigue_ ) and some that he is not so familiar with (concern, hesitation). In his mind's eye he sees her from this morning, wide eyed and hair wild.

Kylo (of course) ruins the image with his presence, head cocked to the side in a way that let's Hux know that he is trying to see into his mind. He glares at the other man and floods his thoughts with nonsense, the flowers of Arkanis (no that's literally too close to home), the finance reports he filled out the day before (better, better), the words from Snoke's last meeting (even better), how much fuel it took to- Kit's voice hits his ears and for the briefest of moments all he can think of is her plea that she stay with him that day. A part of him wishes that he had.

"Feeling sentimental, Hux?" Kylo asks, the sound of what might have been a chuckle masked by static.

Hux keeps his eyes trained on the workers, trained on anyone who is not her. He doesn't have time for this.

"She is quite beautiful, isn't she? In a feral sort of way."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

There is something that could maybe be interpreted as a laugh. Hux cringes at the sound, wonders how much about Kit and himself he managed to let slip through the cracks and into this man's fist.

 _I need to keep her safe. I need to be stronger._

"Is there a reason why you're disturbing my peace? Don't you have some trooper to torment or machine to destroy?"

"Snoke has demanded our presence. If you can spare the time."

 **See. i have issues with it. I will try to better, becuase ou people deserve it. I l0ve you, good night.**

bold makes it look afficial


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